Brooklyn by the Water at Night
by SpeakNow1118
Summary: Clary is a twenty-something single mother with a bad past and no brilliant future. Jace is a college athlete, broken from indescretions and a terrible family. When they meeting at a Little League game, sparks will fly, tears will fall, secrets will be revealed, things will change; their lives will never be the same. AH/AU/OOC
1. Chapter 1

**So… this was an idea I had. This is AU/AH/OOC. I don't own anything but the storyline. **

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Clary was sitting at the table in the quaint kitchen of her small apartment staring at a small stack of papers with a dismal look on her face.

_Bills, bills, bills. _

What was she going to do? As a waitress at Taki's Diner, she was mostly dependent on the tips that she earned from the regular customers; her seven-fifty an hour didn't go very far when she only work twenty to thirty hours a week. Thankfully, Taki's was always busy, so the tips rolled in. But still… money was tight.

Add a growing five year old boy to that equation, and the end result didn't look so hot. Clary sat back in her chair with a small, resigned smile ghosting on her lips.

_Matthew. _

Her five year old son was the one bright spot in her life. The whole reason for her existence was Mattie. No matter what, the tiny energy ball always brought joy with him wherever he went. She never imagined that she would get pregnant at fifteen, but after the… incident… and she took the pregnancy test, her life changed for the better. She had a reason to stay alive: to love and protect this small life that was growing inside of her. From the moment she first felt his tiny body stirring within her, she was attached to the idea that through her royally screwed up life, she would be able to bring a life forward and affect the world in a better way.

But here she was, twenty years old sharing a crappy apartment with a five year old boy, struggling to pay each bill as it came. Somehow, she always made it, but barely. She was scrappy and resourceful and resilient. Every time something tried to knock her down, she always made it work. But Clary feared that this was the last time. When Matthew broke his arm last month, Clary had to take him to the emergency room to have it cared for. And, since she could only afford the cheapest insurance plan, most of the money had to come out of pocket.

Eight hundred dollars. Eight hundred dollars for an hour and half period in the hospital. Clary looked up at the ceiling in an effort to refuse the tears.

_Well, I can pawn that necklace that my mother gave me when I was thirteen, which should bring in about two hundred, and I can put that toward the electric bill. That's not due until next month though. I have eleven hundred in the bank right now, but after paying for water, groceries, and this hospital bill, I'll only have about three hundred. And that scares me._

Clary buried her head in her hands once more. She would have to ask Kaelie for a few extra shifts, and that made her groan. For whatever reason, she and Kaelie did not get along. A small patter of little footsteps made her raise her head.

Mattie was looking at his mother with small, serious blue eyes that were full of concern.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" He asked, and Clary's voice almost broke when she answered.

"Nothing, baby. Go back to the living room and finish watching cartoons." She would never, never, _never_ tell Mattie that they were struggling financially. She would never force those issues on her precious son. With another heavy sigh, she turned back to the stack of paper that set on the table.

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Jace was toasted. He was straight-up hammered, but there was no getting out of this. He inwardly groaned. He should not have had that last beer.

But he had. And now he was paying the consequences.

He stood bare-chested behind the Sword and Shadow bar as a man circled him with his fists raised and chin tucked. Somehow, Jace had gotten roped into an illegal street fight, and the gallon of beer and six shots of tequila that were currently sloshing around in his stomach were doing nothing to aid his mental acuteness.

Ordinarily, Jace could win almost any fight he picked. He was attending Cornell University on a full ride basketball scholarship and as such, as in peak physical condition. His lean, muscled body was chiseled to perfection. He ran a four minute mile, bench pressed three hundred sixty pounds (nearly double his body weight). He prided himself on the fact that he could do more pushups, sit ups, and pull ups than any other member of his team.

Right now, during the off season, he swam, ran, lifted, kickboxed and played baseball to stay in shape. Ah, baseball. His first love. He'd had to choose between a baseball or basketball scholarship, and originally, he was going to choose baseball. But his family convinced him to go with the basketball scholarship, saying that basketball would get him more attention.

Eventually, he complied, but he was not happy about it.

He was ripped from his reverie when a fist clipped his jaw and sent him sprawling backwards, leaving rough abrasions on his back where he scratched the cold, unfeeling brick wall. He tried to defend himself, but he was far too drunk. The unevenly matched fight was over within three minutes, leaving Jace bruised and cut and bleeding on the ground. His best friend Alec was there, but even he left Jace in disgust. So, for hours, Jace simply laid on the ground, trying to work up the strength to stand. When he finally managed to erect himself to a sitting position, his stomach revolted and sprayed the ground in front of him with foul smelling bile and the remnants of his small dinner. Jace used the discarded The Doors t-shirt to wipe his messy mouth, stood shakily and stumbled to the curb in front of the bar, neverminding the fact that his coat and wallet where still inside.

Luke knew that it was Jace's stuff and would hold it until Jace got around to picking it up. He dropped the shirt into a dumpster and hailed a cab, stating his address in short, curt words. When he arrived, he pulled a twenty from his pocket, thankful that he always kept some back up money in his pockets in case his wallet was stolen, and paid the cabbie. He crashed through the dorm door and collapsed on his bed still fully (sort of) dressed. Within in seconds, Jace was asleep.

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**This is the prologue, more is to come in the actual story part. Hopefully, you will enjoy it, but I'm not promising updates until I get City of Resentful Angels finished. There will be the odd update occasionally because I got struck with inspiration or I hit a road block with one of my other stories. I was hit with this idea and I wanted to write the first chapter of it before the idea fled. So, here it is.**

**Leave me your thoughts, comments, and questions in the review box. Any reviews will get a spoiler.**

**Peace and Love,**

**SpeakNow1118**


	2. Chapter 2

**In the last chapter, I said Jace goes to Cornell. I lied. He goes to Columbia. I totally forgot that Ithaca is about four and half hours away from Manhattan. My bad.**

**I don't own it.**

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"Jace!" An angry voice pounded into Jace's sleeping consciousness, attempting to rouse him from his stupor. The voice rang again and again. Finally, Jace succumbed and woke up in a rage.

"What?" He shouted as he sat up, "What is so fricking important?"

Alec, his roommate and best friend stood above him with a glass of water, his hands just beginning to tip forward to spill the icy liquid on Jace.

"You missed practice. And classes. Coach is pissed. Get up." Alec's terse commands did nothing to help Jace's mood. As a twenty-one year old male, he didn't take orders very well.

"Like hell I will. Get out." Jace fell back against his pillow, and this time Alec didn't refrain from pouring the ice water on him. Jace jumped up cursing and throwing punches which, since Jace was currently _very_ hungover, were easily avoided by Alec.

"Get up." Alec's voice was colder than the water he had just poured on Jace. "Your court hearing is in an hour."

Jace groaned and threw his pillow at Alec's face. He curled into a small ball on his bed as Alec left the dorm. Not only did he have to go to court now, but he had to fight a hangover while at court. He groaned again. This was such a sucky day so far. He thought back over the past few months with a resigned sigh as he forced his lithe body away from his nice, warm bed.

_It was a cold night; Jace and the rest of his team were out partying after a hard-fought win against their rival. Jace scored thirty-two points and was high off of his success. But it hadn't been enough. He wanted more. He wanted to get wasted and he wanted to get laid. He hit up the wild Manhattan night clubs, rapidly falling out of control. He was completely hammered and headed back to some random chick's dorm when he was dared to run through the streets completely naked. Not one to turn down a bet, Jace ran down the chilly streets of Manhattan – straight into the arms of a police officer. He was arrested for indecent exposure and public intoxication. _

Jace was a good enough athlete that Columbia's press people made it all go away. He pled guilty, and today was his court hearing to have his sentence handed down. Today was not looking good at all. Most likely, he would get some sort of fine and be on his merry way, but there was an off-chance that he would get more.

Today was not looking good at all.

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"Three hundred hours of community service." The judge's nasally voice rang out loud across the nearly empty courtroom, his Brooklyn accent was clear and precise. The only people standing in the room were Jace, his lawyer, the bailiff, and the coach. Jace stomach dropped to the floor.

"What?" He demanded in an angry voice. The lawyer grabbed his hand and squeezed with a death grip. His message was clear: _shut up._

"You heard me, Mister Wayland. Three hundred hours. To be served, ah, let's see," the judge scanned across Jace's file and then down another list that Jace presumed to be community service opportunities. "I see you play baseball, Mister Wayland." The Judge Judy wannabe squinted up at Jace through his glasses.

"Yes, Your Honor," Jace growled through locked teeth, "In addition to basketball."

"I see that you are originally from Brooklyn?"

Jace repeated his affirmation.

"You will serve your sentence as an assistant coach to the West Brooklyn Little League Association, effective immediately. You will begin service at their first practice tomorrow."

Jace bit his tongue hard enough to make it bleed as he tried to keep his hotheaded retort behind his lips. Through the haze of rage, he realized that brash words would hurt him in the long run. The judge ran through some formalities and dismissed Jace.

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"Mommy?" A small voice was peeking through Clary's consciousness and try as she might, she could only ignore it for a few moments before it became insistent. Again, the little boy tried to wake his mother up. Clary groaned and rolled over, burying her face into the lumpy pillow.

"Mommy?" Matthew's voice was determined now, and soon, thin fingers were prying her crusty eyelids up and poking the sides of her stomach in an attempt to tickle her awake. In reality, it would probably just leave bruises along her pale skin.

She rolled over towards Matthew and grabbed his slim hands. "Alright," she grumbled, "I'm awake." She sat up and pulled Matthew into her lap, grabbing the comforter and drawing it around their shoulders. In the early morning of the April day, the air was still slightly chilled.

"Mommy," Mattie started in a whining voice, but caught the look on Clary's face and changed his tone. Clary _hated_ whining. "We don't have time to snuggle. We need to get ready to go! Baseball starts at ten o'clock!"

Clary glanced at the clock in the kitchen. Since her apartment was only three rooms, that wasn't difficult. The small apartment had one bathroom, one bedroom, and everything else was simply crammed into a small space, perhaps only three hundred square feet. She had managed to finagle the landlord Dorothea into putting up a half wall, the petite kitchen with a small breakfast bar was sort of blocked off, but the living room was sandwiched in wherever Clary could find space. A Clary's bed consisted of a pull out couch (she let Matthew have the bedroom) that was wedged in front of an old television and coffee table. By the door stood her easel and paint supplies and an itty-bitty toy box with six toys she bought at a yard sale for Matthew. A rather large desk sat in the corner; her beat up laptop, a lamp, and a jar of pens and pencils graced the top.

"Mattie!" Clary wailed, "It's only 5:45! Go back to sleep for a few hours." She fell back and covered her face with the thick, soft blankets. All too soon though, she was being poked by Matthew's small fingers.

"Mommy?" Matthew's voice was pitifully small, and Clary could sense that he was about to unleash the Face. "Mommy, please? Please can you get up? I'm so excited I don't think I can go back to sleep."

Clary, the softie that she was, dared to peek out from the covers and saw the tiniest glimpse of Matthew's face and swallowed hard. Yep, she had that one coming. She couldn't resist the Face, and Matthew knew it. He smiled triumphantly as she rose from the bed and folded it back into the couch.

"You better not make a habit of this, Kiddo." Clary warned as she ducked to drop a kiss on Matthew's head. He just looked up at her innocently.

"Mom, can I have eggs for breakfast? I need the growteins."

Clary muffled a snort and hid her smile. "Do you mean _pro_teins, by chance, Matt?"

The young boy looked confused, and his strawberry blond hair stood in tufts on his head. He was just so _freaking _cute.

"Sit down," Clary instructed, beginning to make the coffee. "I'll make eggs."

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Jace, to be perfectly honest, was very irritated. He was being forced to spend his valuable time trying to teach some stupid five and six year olds how to not choke up a bat when they took a pathetically weak swing at the baseball that was balanced on a rubber "T." He was told to arrive at nine o'clock; so naturally, he arrived at nine-thirty. The balding, forty-something coach introduced himself as James, and politely asked Jace to arrive on time at the next practice. Jace blinked a few times and replied coolly, "Back off. I don't want to be here. I'll come when I damn well want to."

John, Jack, whatever his name was blinked and gave the attitude right back to Jace. "You are aware that in order for your community service to be complete, I have to sign a paper and give a testimony? If you don't act according to the rules I lay down, I will file a letter with the court that says you did not complete the community service." James paused to look Jace in the eye. "I don't give a rat's hat that you don't want to be here, but for the next six months, you are mine. You will behave correctly, you will have a positive attitude, and you will help teach these kids about baseball. Understood?" James' voice never wavered; he could have been telling Jace about the weather or discussing a movie review. But his intentions were clear. Jace would behave, or James would make his life hell.

Just after James finished talking to him, a redheaded woman and a small boy walked up. She introduced herself and the boy to James, who smiled and kneeled down to talk to the boy. Jace was too far away from them to hear any of the conversation, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the woman.

She was beautiful. Not hot, in the way he usually preferred, with long legs and voluptuous curves, but she was gorgeous, sexy in her own way. Jace guessed her height to be about five feet, maybe five foot two. She wore a pair of black skinny jeans paired with a fitted dark green thermal that showed off her slim body in an attractive way. Her thumbs poked through holes in the sleeve, and the dark fabric was decorated with small paint splatters. Her curly red hair was long, ending just above her waist, and was pulled off in a side ponytail. Atop her head sat a Yankee hat, which she plucked off and placed on the boy's head when she leaned down and kissed him. Even from here, he could see her luminous emerald eyes. A small dusting of freckles was splayed across her face, and she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ears. She casually walked off to the bleachers that sat next to the field, and she reached into her bag and pulled something out, leaned over it, and began moving her hands in determined strokes.

_Ahh, _Jace thought, _she's an artist._

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Later that morning, Clary and Matthew walked the thirty blocks to the baseball park. Well, she walked, Matthew bounced. Clary couldn't help but smile as her son tugged her hand again, anxiously proclaiming that they were going to be late and that they needed to hurry up.

"Matthew," Clary said in a frustrated voice, "It's only nine o'clock. We have an hour to walk twenty blocks. We're doing fine on time."

Though a little sheepish, Matthew pressed the issue determinedly. "Are you sure, Mom? I want to be early!"

"You _will _be early. Now that's enough."

Finally placated, Matthew fell into a settled state, though every few moments he would ask questions about things he saw on the street. Clary patiently answered all of his queries, noting how much Matthew was like her. He had such a passion for life; he wanted all the answers, and he wanted them now. Matthew's personality was so like her own. He was kind, impatient, vivacious, bubbly. He was happy, but temperamental. When he grew frustrated, his temper flared, though ten minutes later, all was forgiven. Matthew was artistic; his drawings covered the refrigerator drawers and lined his bedroom walls. His thirst for knowledge surprised Clary sometimes; it seemed almost unnatural in a five year old. He wasn't all intellect, though, he _loved_ sports. He had begged and pleaded Clary to allow him to play baseball as soon as he was old enough. She'd had to scrimp for weeks for the sign-up fee, and the uniform? That was three months of saving to purchase the precious Little League T-ball Yankees uniform. Somehow, Matthew managed to beguile the lady at the sign-up table into placing him on the Yankees team. Clary smiled at the memory. Her son could be _very_ persuasive sometimes.

"_You see, it's very important that I be a Yankee." Matthew said with a look of complete innocence on his face. "It's critical to my health." _

_The woman sitting behind the table peered at Matthew over top of her glasses. "Oh, it is, is it?" She asked in a high voice._

"_Yes," Matthew replied, "You see, I'm allergic to light colors. Since Yankees wear dark blue, I think that it's the safest path to travel." _

_The woman raised her eyebrows and looked at Clary. Clary rolled her eyes and shook her head, mouthing the words, "He really loves the Yankees."_

_The woman, clearly moved by Matthew's adorableness, finally agreed and handed Clary a form to fill out. "Very well," she grumbled in mock anger, "You're on the Yankees." Matthew let out a whoop and pulled Clary away to fill out the forms. He bounced excitedly on his toes, pointing out every few minutes that he _really _was on the Yankees. _

Clary introduced herself and Matthew to the coach, a slightly round man about six feet tall with light brown hair and kind brown eyes. She immediately liked him when he kneeled in front of Matthew and introduced himself as James and stated that he was very happy to have Matthew on his team.

"I can't promise that we'll win every game, but we will try hard and have fun." James stood and motioned to a sullen looking blonde man that stood a few yards away. "This is Jace; he is one of my assistant coaches. The other one is right there," he pointed towards an older dark-haired man, "His name is William."

Matthew's green eyes, identical to her own, looked up at Clary solemnly and said, "You can go now, Mom. I'm okay by myself."

Clary restrained the chuckle that rose to her lips and raised her eyebrows, "Well, alright then. I'll just go home and wait for you there."

Matthew suddenly looked panic-stricken. "No, no!" He cried, "I meant that you could go wait on the benches over there!" He pointed frantically towards a pathetic looking set of bleachers.

"Oh, I see." Clary playfully overemphasized the words as she reached up to remove the hat she wore, leaned down to kiss his cheek, and placed the hat over his strawberry curls. "I'll just wait over there then. Be good." She strode over to the bleachers and made herself as comfortable as possible, then pulled her sketchpad out of her beige messenger bag and started a detailed sketch of the two coaches showing Matthew how to correctly hold a bat. With varying degrees of attention, she noticed the blonde man still sitting stonily off to the side.

Slowly, more and more people trickled in, and the bleachers soon were filled with middle-aged men and women who were conversing with one another about their children's latest accomplishments. With a small degree of discomfort, Clary realized that all of the parents were at least ten years older than she, and most were even older.

After an hour and half, Clary had five different sketches, all of the glee-filled children on the baseball field, and she was working on a sixth. Suddenly, a small head filled her vision. Mattie looked up at her curiously.

"Are you ready to go, Mom? Practice is over and I'm hungry again." Clary smiled and ruffled his sweat dampened hair.

"Alright, let's go." She gathered her things and stood, stretching her stiff muscles as she moved to climb down from the bleachers. Matthew looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey." A honeyed voice caught her attention. The blonde assistant coach whose name she couldn't remember was leaning against the cold metal bleachers with his arms across his chest. He had the kind of face that Clary would love to sketch; pretty and angular, he was almost leonine. The man was washed in gold, his hair was blonde, his eyes only a few shades darker than his hair. His skin was tanned and stretched taut over well-defined muscles, which she could see plainly through his Beastie Boys long sleeve shirt. She tried not to notice, but his jeans fit him _really _well too.

"Hey." She replied nonchalantly as she kept walking. He followed her.

"I'm Jace."

"Clary." She returned her name in a neutral tone.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said in a not-quite-arrogant voice.

"Nice to meet you too." Each time he talked, she mirrored his tone.

A small gasp broke into her consciousness. "Wait! I forgot my glove!" Matthew cried as he started running back towards the field.

"Brother?" Jace flipped his chin in Matthew's direction as he asked a seemingly harmless question, but Clary stopped suspiciously.

"No," she replied with a derisive manner, looking up into Jace's golden eyes, "Son, actually."

Jace looked slight taken a back, but nodded in acceptance. "Where's his dad?"

"Not here," Clary replied with a sneer, "Not that it's any of your business."

"Whoa-ho, lady, calm down. Just trying to learn a little about my team, here." Jace raised his hands in a defensive maneuver. "He's pretty good, actually."

Clary tried to stay mad, but failed miserably. "Thanks. I'll tell him you said that." Matthew came running back to them with a relieved look on his face, his mitt in hand.

"Got it, Mommy." He blinked as he noticed Jace standing beside his mother. "Hi, Jace."

Jace nodded towards Matthew and said, "Hey, Little Man," then walked away. He heard Clary say "come on, Mattie, let's go. What do you want for lunch?" A small burst of high-pitched chatter followed the question, and her musical laugh reached his ears. He watched as Clary wrapped an arm around Matthew's shoulders and led him gently towards the busy street.

Clary. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

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"Can we get ice cream? Or maybe grilled cheese. How about some fruit? Or noodles? Mom? Mommy? Hello?" Clary was jerked back to reality when Matthew started tugging on her arm.

"What, Baby?" She asked, shaking her head to clear her mind.

"What are we doing for lunch? I'm fanished."

"Famished," she corrected.

He repeated the word, saving it in his mental dictionary. Suddenly, Matthew asked the most difficult question he had ever asked before.

"Mommy, why don't I have a Daddy? Will and Evan and all my other friends have Daddies. How come-" Clary froze at Mattie's questions. She had foolishly prayed this day would never come. But now it had, and her son was expecting an answer.

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**So there it is. Chapter two of Brooklyn by the Water at Night has been posted. What do you think? Two questions:**

**How do you picture Matthew? Any particular child actor that you see him as?**

**Which actress do you picture Clary as? (in regards to the book, not just this story)**

**Story recommendation: Hold Me by KissingFire. ( oneshot. It's amazing.)**

**Peace and Love,**

**SpeakNow1118**


	3. Chapter 3

**The only Jace and Clary I own are in books that have Cassandra Clare's name splashed across the front. **

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Matthew was looking at Clary with a curious expression. "Mommy, why don't I have a daddy?" He repeated his question with a note of petulance. He wanted an answer now. Clary stopped, abruptly pulling Matthew, who was still walking, back to her and knelt down to wrap him in a hug, trying desperately to save herself from the flashbacks.

"You don't have a Daddy because you are very, very special. Do you understand?"

"But at school they said-"

"I don't care what they said at school," Clary interrupted, "You are so special that you don't need a Daddy. Okay?" She ended the note on a question to hide the fact that her voice was shaking terribly. For five years, she had wondered what she would say when Mattie asked the inevitable question, and in five years she hadn't come up with an answer. However, Matthew seemed placated with that answer and pulled her to her feet, restating that he was hungry.

"How about some ice cream?" Clary asked, thankful to be off the topic of fathers.

Matthew cheered loudly and started dragging her along again, joyously proclaiming that they should go to the stand by the bridge for their cool treat. When they got there, Clary pulled out her wallet, only to shoot a dismayed at the plastic case. She had only three dollars in cash. Matthew wanted a large chocolate cone with sprinkles and chocolate on it, but she couldn't afford it.

"No, Mattie, you can get a small vanilla cone today. We're going to go home and have lunch. Vanilla or nothing." He grumbled and whined, but he caved. Even vanilla ice cream was better than no ice cream at all. Clary grabbed a handful of napkins, already seeing the sticky white stuff all over Matthew's face and new uniform. Sending a silent thank you up above, she reached out and snatched the cone from Matthew's hand, effectively saving the ice cream from ending up on the ground. Clary sighed heavily. How did boys manage to make such a mess?

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Jace walked away from the mother and son chuckling in disbelief. `Jace guessed that she was around twenty, but that didn't make much sense. Twenty with a five year old? It could happen, but even from those few brief moments, Jace could tell that she was responsible. She didn't seem like the kind of person that slept around, but he didn't see a ring on her finger either. Not that that mattered, his parents didn't wear rings. He was thoroughly intrigued by this fiery haired woman named Clary.

He walked back to where the coaches were standing and got directions for the next practice. He trudged to his car, dreading the fact that he would have to go back to his dorm and do nothing. It was the end of the year, and finals were in three weeks, so there was little to no homework to do. (Not that he ever did any.)

He could study.

He laughed aloud on that one.

He could go annoy Sebastian.

Possibly. He was getting warmer.

He could find out more about Clary and her son.

That idea was the most intriguing. He had a file with all of the player's names in, and he assumed that her son's bore the last name she did.

Once safely inside his prized car, Jace said her name out loud a few times, savoring the way it caressed his tongue and flowed from his mouth. He could definitely get used to saying that name. He wondered if Clary was short for anything, and the guessing game he played kept his mind occupied until he reached campus again. He parked and powerfully strode to his room; booting up the computer was an easy task, but he was impatient. He wanted to know _now. _

After a few seconds, he had Google up and running a search on Clary Fray. Very, very little came up. A newspaper clipping caught his eye. It was dated November 18th, 2006. Five years ago. The color picture that appeared with the article showed a smiling Clary holding a vivid portrait of the city skyline in black and white. While it appeared lifelike, there was a distorted quality in the picture that made it seem as something from a dream. His eyes skimmed over the small editorial, entitled "Young Woman Stuns Critics," selfishly gleaning all the information on the mystery woman he could get.

_Clarissa Fray, 15 (inset) is quickly showing the world that she is an artistic force to be reckoned with. At the ripe young age of fifteen, she has won several art contests, including The Clare Carstairs Juried Art Prize, in which she entered a piece she calls "Brooklyn by the Water at Night." Miss Fray is the daughter of well-known author Lucian Garroway and painter Jocelyn Fray. She attends West Brooklyn Public High School and is considering attending Columbia University to major in Art History. Her hobbies include painting, reading, writing, and swimming. _

Jace leaned back in his chair. _I was right, _he thought, _she's about twenty. She must have gotten pregnant right around the time this picture was taken. _He wondered where her parents were, who the father was, was she married, was she in a relationship? Where did she live? What did she do for a living?

Sighing, he tilted his head back even further and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. He had to stop this. Jace repeated those five words again and again – a never ending mantra in his head – but it was pointless. His mind was brimming over with thoughts of the fiery redhead. He saw them walking hand in hand down Seventh Avenue. He could see them laughing on a park bench. He could see them lying together in bed, passionately kissing and screaming one another's name. He could see Clary in a white dress, holding flowers as she walks down a long church aisle towards him. He could see a diamond band on her finger, Jace leaning down to kiss her deliciously round stomach as she decorated a Christmas tree with Matthew dancing in the background.

He had to stop this. Jace barely even knew her name, and now he was thinking about her in a wedding dress? This was insane. This was _definitely_ not normal. But he liked the idea of belonging to Clary. He liked the idea that she would be all his; the growing life within her would be half of him, a true testament to their unending love.

He jerked to his feet, placing his hands on the desk and leaning against the sturdy wooden frame. His breath came hard and heavy, a small sheen of sweat was across his forehead. What was wrong with him? He had only met the woman today and he was thinking about her being pregnant with his baby? That kind of thing only happened in movies; real men never felt like this. His father taught him that. To love is to destroy. Plus, the fact that he had known Clary for less than six hours and he was thinking possessive thoughts about her was just slightly stalkerish. Yeah, he was definitely going nuts. No normal person thought about marriage and pregnancy before the first date.

Yeah, he was definitely crazy.

But he still couldn't get her out of his head.

He groaned and grabbed a towel and the bottle of lemon body wash from his closet. The nicer dorms on campus had semi-private bathrooms, and he had never been so thankful for that. The last thing he wanted right now was to be around other people. Jace flicked the light switch and stripped down. He blindly spun the shower knobs and stepped in. At first, he scalded himself just for the hell of it; sometimes pain was incredibly enjoyable, but then he yanked the hot water handle to the off position and stood there in the freezing water for a long time. He placed one hand on the wall in front of him and let the icy water cascade over his body; he tilted his head down and watched as the water rivulets pooled in the indentation of his collarbone, dripped down over his chest, slid between his thighs and down over his legs before collecting in the bottom of the shower stall. Jace shivered once and turned the spigot to relieve the water pressure. He stepped out and peered at himself in the mirror, noting how his muscles bunched and rippled as he moved.

He wondered if Clary liked muscular guys.

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Two days. Two miserable days filled with classes and post-season practice before the next Little League practice. Two whole freaking days before he caught a glimpse of the beautiful woman who plagued his thoughts.

_It was worth the wait,_ he thought to himself.

Today her slim body was adorned with a simple pair of denim cut off shorts, a light gray V-neck shirt and a pair of knock-off aviator sunglasses. He looked her over again, taking a real appreciation of her slender legs and how the anklet she wore made those legs go on forever. Her cheap flip-flops showed off small feet that were more than a little beaten up, leading Jace to believe that she spent a lot of time moving around.

Since she and her son were the only people here, and James was busy helping Matthew warm up, Jace suppose that he could go chat her up for a few moments. _Time to lay on the Wayland charm._

He casually strode over to her, taking his time to appear as though he couldn't care less. When he finally did reach her, she was sketching furiously. Jace peered over her shoulder curiously for a moment, trying to indifferently gain her notice. She didn't look up. Several more moments of her ignoring him passed before he cleared his throat to catch her attention. She looked up, gasped and jumped a little, implying that she really _hadn't_ noticed he was there.

He put out a hand to steady her, softly apologizing.

"No, no. It's okay." Clary laughed, and Jace committed the sound to memory. "I should have paid more attention. I get really involved when I'm drawing." She motioned weakly what appeared to be the beginning stages of a sketch of a woman delicately biting into an apple. Jace took the paper from her and studied it for a moment.

"This is good." He murmured as he handed it back to her. A succulent blush tinged her cheeks, and she stuttered a thanks. "Do you paint professionally?"

"No," she sighed wistfully, "I wish. I work as a waitress at Taki's, a diner on the lower West Side."

"Yeah, I know that place," Jace exclaimed happily, "I eat there all the time. I love their pancakes."

"Mmm, me too." Clary replied, a small smile on her face.

"How come I never see you there?" Jace asked suspiciously.

"I mostly work evening and night shifts." Clary reached up and scratched her ear. "There's a small room in the back where Angela lets Mattie sleep. It's not ideal, but I don't have to pay for a babysitter…"

"Babysitter?" Jace asked hesitantly. He was using this conversation to learn as much about her as possibly. Other players were starting to trickle in; he didn't have long until he would be forced to wrap the conversation up. Suddenly, inspiration struck him. "What about your husband? Doesn't he help with Matt?"

Clary raised an eyebrow. "I'm twenty, and I have a five year old son. Do you really think I'm married?"

Jace smiled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He looked over his shoulder in annoyance when James shouted his name and beckoned for him to come to the field. "Just wondering. I'm surprised that someone as beautiful as you doesn't have a man. It's a travesty."

Clary's eyebrow went even higher. "That was smooth." She retorted.

"A man's got to do his best." He winked and turned away. "Stick around, Clarissa Fray. I have something I want to ask you later."

Clary tried really hard not to notice the way his hips moved when he walked. She looked down at the unfinished drawing in her hands with disgust. Turning to a new page, she added a few curved lines of detail before she started to sketch in earnest.

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After two hours had gone by, Clary had gone through three pages, never satisfied with the ending product. Her hands made confident marks on the page, but something about the result displeased her. Try as she might, she couldn't portray the leonine man to her perfect standards. Something in the angles of his face threw her off. She couldn't get his eyes right.

Those bottomless golden eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul when he looked at her.

Oh, great. Now she was spewing romantic movie crap.

If there was one thing she had learned, it was that fairy tale endings don't exist.

Yes, she had gotten Matthew out of the deal, and yes, she loved him so much that sometimes it felt like her heart would burst, but the truth was that Matthew was a mistake.

Clary instantly felt guilty for thinking that. Matthew was the _one_ good thing that had come out of her rotten, horrible, screwed up life, and she was forever grateful that Matthew was in her life. She smiled a little as her son came to her mind. Whenever that cherubic little face splashed across her thoughts, her face split open in a grin.

"Happy to see me?" Jace mused as he leaned against the metal post.

"Oh, always." Clary smirked. Matthew was standing right behind Jace, eagerly bouncing on his toes. "Do you have _everything, _Baby? Don't forget anything." She looked down at her son who concentrated for a moment before his lips formed a little "o" of surprise and he ran off. Clary smiled ruefully as she watched him. "He's a little forgetful sometimes."

Jace chuckled and leaned his face in his hands and looked at her. "So about earlier…" He trailed off, waiting to judge her reaction. Clary looked at him expectantly. "What I wanted to as you was," he paused for dramatic affect and leaned in towards her, "Let me take you to dinner."

"That's not a question," Clary replied amusedly, "That's a statement."

Jace had the decency to flush a little and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Take it however you want to take it. Where can I pick you up?"

"I haven't agreed yet." Clary stated flatly.

"Well then, what's the answer?" He was a little irritated now; it wasn't often that a woman outright turned him down.

"Why do you want to go out with me?" She asked, a little irritated as well.

"You intrigue me." His eyes darkened a little, and suddenly she understood why she couldn't get his portrait right. His eyes were too deep, too meaningful, too clouded for her artistic abilities to manage. Even the likes of da Vinci and Raphael wouldn't be able to accurately portray those eyes. She was lost in them; her body gave one slight tremor before she gave in.

"Alright," she acquiesced, "I'll go out with you."

Jace's crooked smile aroused a tingle of warmth in the depth of her stomach; the small chip in his right incisor endeared him to her. "Where and when can I pick you up?"

Clary reached down into the heavily used tan bag she always carried and pulled a pen from its dark insides. She scrawled her address on his hand while trying to think of a time that wasn't too intrusive. "How about Sunday at seven?"

_What am I doing? I'm acting like a lovesick, sex-deprived teenager. He's not gonna wonder how I got pregnant at fifteen. I'm such an idiot. _She leaned back and blinked a few times before clearing her throat.

Jace nodded and leaned in closer yet. His cool, minty breath swirled around her face, causing her to fumble and knock the bag from his resting place, its contents spilling all over the hard, brown earth. She blushed a little as she hastily scrambled to grab everything and slip it back into the bad. Jace knelt down next to her and picked up her sketchpad, which, most embarrassingly of all, had fallen open to the rough likeness of Jace. She snatched it from his hands and shoved it in her bag, standing stiffly and taking Matthew's hand to lead him away.

"See you on Thursday for practice!" He couldn't resist calling out. She distractedly nodded over her shoulder, but Matthew turned and waved enthusiastically. Jace bit back a grin as he watched her walk away. She was undoubtedly the most amazing woman he had ever met. She leaned in to flirt and ended up pulling away so she didn't seem easy, but that didn't surprise him. What surprised him was the drawing that the sketchbook had magically fallen open to.

She had drawn a picture of him.

He reached up to touch his lips and felt a smile slowly pull them apart.

He was really looking forward to Sunday.

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**So there is chapter three. I want to know what you think. Leave it in the reviews, pretty please with Jace on top? (Or Clary if you swing that way.)**

**Questions:**

**What is your favorite fanfiction? (Not necessarily by me, just in general, what is your favorite?)**

**Which actor do you see portraying Jace? *In your dreams. Doesn't have to be Jamie C-B. Just curious. I see Alex Pettyfer.**

**Yeah, so this chapter was mostly Jace-centric. What do you think about that? Good, bad, what? I might do a Matthew POV, but I'm not sure yet. **

**Peace and Love,**

**SpeakNow1118**


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own this. *sits in corner and cries***

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_Stupid. Dumb. Idiot. What were you thinking, Dummy? _

Clary was mentally slapping herself over and over and over. She was physically incapable of flirting, and yet she tried anyway. And epically failed. Like, majorly. He laughed at her.

What was she even doing trying to flirt with some guy? She had _way_ too much to deal with on a daily basis without adding a needy, overly confident, whiny man into the equation. She didn't want any of that. Her mind was made up; the next time she saw him, she was canceling. When in doubt, back out.

But then again, what was the harm in _one _date? Mattie could stay with the elderly woman across the hall and she could get a free dinner.

Wow, that was cold. Now she was freeloading? No, she didn't do that. Ever. She worked for what she got, and she worked damn hard for it. Clary never took anything for granted and she never took anything for free.

When Mrs. Fairchild babysat Matthew for whatever reason, Clary always made sure to pay. Sometimes it was cash; sometimes she helped the older woman clean and cook. But no matter what, Clary _always _paid. She was so grateful for the older woman; she was the grandmother that Matthew didn't have. Not like parents wanted to see Matthew. Not like they cared. And his other grandparents? Forget it.

Clary pulled Matthew off to the side and stepped into the small grocery store. _Just like everything in my life,_ Clary mused, _tiny and relatively unnoticed. _Not that she was complaining, and not that she was bitter. It's just, well; the irony wasn't lost on her. Clary quickly assembled what she needed, tugging Matthew along behind her, patiently refusing all of his superfluous requests.

"No, you may not have candy."

"No, you may not buy that bag of chips."

"No, you may not have that."

Being a mother was very tiring sometimes.

Fifty bucks and three heavily laden paper bags later, Clary and Matthew were walking towards home again. Mattie carried the lightest of the three bags, and she juggled the other two while still trying to hold Matthew's hand. He had a tendency to wander.

All at once, Clary's head was cracking up off of the ground, the brown paper bags splayed across the cool sidewalk, their contents unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Matthew was lying beside her crying. By the time she looked up and realized what happened, the men were gone, and all she could see was a dark-haired boy sneering at her and flash of white-blonde hair disappearing into the crowed.

"Watch where you're going, old lady!" The dark-haired one called back in a mocking tone and Clary felt a flash of rage pass through her body. _Old lady? You're probably older than I am!_

She sighed and gathered Mattie into her arms, anxiously checking him over for injuries. She gently kissed the large abrasion on his knee; it was bleeding profusely and would definitely need to be cleaned and bandaged. Until then, she took off the dark gray t-shirt she was wear, leaving her in a white tank top, and blotted at the cut. She tried to murmur comforting words to her son, but he was too shaken up to calm down for the moment. Spectators started to move around them, satisfied that the action was over, but only one stopped to help.

"Assholes." The man knelt down in front of them and gathered the groceries into the bags for them. Clary looked up in a daze and saw Jace staring at her curiously. "What happened?" He asked in a sift voice.

"I don't… I don't know." She put a hand to her temple and pulled it back, a miniscule trickle of blood from where she hit the ground was slipping down the side of her face. Jace touched careful fingers to it, trying to stop the blood flow. "I'm fine, really." She touched the inside of his wrist and pushed his hand away, but Jace just shook his head.

"No, you're not. You really nailed your head, plus, you're bleeding. I think you should go to the hospital."

She shook her head adamantly. "No, no hospitals. Where's Matthew? He hurt himself." Clary went to move to find him, but the sudden movement caused her world to spin and shake. She sat back down and steadied herself, and Jace deposited Mattie in her lap. Clary wrapped her arms around him and rocked her son back and forth for a few moments to calm him. Matthew slipped his thumb into his mouth and his tears finally abated. Jace sat back on his heels and watched with a masked face as Clary stood Matt up and then struggled to her feet.

"Clary, I really think that you should go to the hospital… You probably have a concussion."

"I said no hospitals," she snapped, "I just need to go home and take some Motrin. Where's my stuff at?" She looked around confusedly, but the three bags were already perfectly balanced in Jace's arms.

"If you're not going to the hospital, then I'm going home with you to make sure you don't die in your sleep." Matthew looked up at his mother's face with sheer terror at the thought of her death. Jace met her obstinate gaze with a triumphant expression. After a few moments, Clary sighed and relented.

"Fine," she said wearily. "I live this way." She lifted Matthew into her arms and carried him the remaining ten blocks to their apartment. When she finally reached the small dwelling, Clary was huffing and puffing like the big bag wolf, but she managed to wheeze out, "You're getting too heavy to do that anymore, Bud." Matthew continued sucking his thumb as he nestled his head against Clary's neck.

"Come on; slide down so Mommy can get the key." Matthew tiredly shimmied to the floor and Clary swung the door wide open, allowing Matthew to race into the couch and collapse on top of it. Clary motioned for Jace to put the groceries on the kitchen table as she went to the bathroom closet and retrieved the first aid kit. She stretched a towel out below Mattie and cautiously dripped peroxide on the wound, causing Matthew to jump and shriek.

"That's enough, Matthew, it doesn't hurt that bad." Mattie sighed and sucked his thumb, settling into the couch and squeezing his eyes tightly closed. Clary quickly dabbed the blood and excess anti-septic away and wrapped a gauze bandage around his knee. She stood and walked to the freezer, grabbed a pineapple popsicle, gave it to Mattie and turned the television on. Somewhat content, Matthew focused on the antics of Tom and Jerry, leaving Clary to put away the groceries.

She jumped a little when she felt strong hands gently pushing on her back, guiding her to the kitchen and lifting her to slight body onto one of the three barstools.

"It's your turn to be fixed up." He murmured as those soft strong hands eased her hair back away from her face. He reached for the peroxide and dampened a washcloth with the strong-smelling liquid and brushed it across the gash on her forehead. He looked concerned as he continued cleaning it off and placed a large band-aid over it.

His eyes widened and a low whistle brushed across her face. "You're going to have quite a goose egg, Sweetheart." He took her face in his hands. "Look at the tip of my nose." She complied as he took his cell phone out and waved it in front of her face. "Yep, you definitely might have a concussion." He smirked.

She hopped down off of the stool in irritation. "What are you, a doctor?"

His eyes lit up, amused at her reaction. "Well, sort of. It's what I'm going to school for, so…" he trailed off. She blushed a little as she placed the gallon of milk in the beat up fridge.

"Well thanks for your concern, but I'm fine. Really. You can go now." Clary looked pointedly at the door, and Jace just chuckled.

"You're crazy. I'm staying right here for a few hours. I'm not letting you use death as an excuse for backing out of our date on Sunday." He shook his head in mock sadness when he spoke. "That would not help my self-confidence at all."

"Oh, trust me. Your self-confidence needs no help at all." She rolled her eyes and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and tossed one to him. He caught it then clutched at his chest, his face in a mask of horror.

"Oh, the emotional pain suffered at the hands of the rapier wit of Clarissa Fray." He fell back onto the stool, his eyes wide and full of mirth. Clary rolled her eyes again as she searched for the bottle of Motrin.

"Are you by chance looking for this?" Jace asked teasingly, waving the white bottle just out of her reach. She stood feet apart, one hand on her hip, and the other extended out in front of her. Clary's eyebrow was raised in a harsh glare, and Jace pretended to gulp in fear.

"Please, not the 'Mom Glare!'" He pretended to plead with her, even going so far as to kneel before her and shake his folded hands. Clary rolled her eyes and allowed a small smile as she plucked the bottle from his hands.

Jace jumped to his feet and shouted, "Aha! A smile from Clary Fray. I can die a happy man."

"You're so obnoxious," Clary stated around a mouthful of ibuprofen.

"But the ladies love it." Jace retorted as he pulled her towards him for a soft kiss. When their lips met, Clary gasped a little, whether from shock or pleasure, Jace didn't know. He didn't particularly care either; he had dreamed about doing this since he met her.

And it was perfect. He loosely gripped her shoulders and moved his lips against hers, sensing that she was enjoying this too. Clary lifted her arms around Jace's neck and pulled him a little closer, wanting to be held. When they pulled back to breathe, Clary looked deep within Jace's eyes and saw a passion similar to the one that she knew she was exuding.

"What was that?" She whispered.

"Something amazing." Jace whispered back. Then he pressed his lips to hers again, gaining more and more heat and passion as the seconds ticked past. A soft whimper got caught in Jace's throat, but he pushed it back. Real men don't whimper. He ran his hands through Clary's long, silky, _fiery_ red hair and crushed her to him.

"Is this…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"What? Is the great Jace Wayland speechless? Mark this day down in history!" She taunted playfully. Her arms went around his waist and she leaned her head against his chest. Jace moved her heavy hair away from her neck and brushed open-mouth kisses along the soft skin he found there. She tasted like grapefruit and strawberry.

Delicious.

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Jace ended up staying for lunch. And dinner. And a movie. They talked for hours, getting to know each other. Favorite colors, movies, foods, books, styles – almost everything. It was only when Clary realized that she had to go to work in an hour that Jace realized he should probably leave.

"So, is this our first date?" Jace called to Clary as he was getting ready to walk out the door. She was in the bathroom, dressing in her _very_ flattering dark blue dress and sneakers. When she emerged, her curly hair was restrained in a high ponytail that swung back and forth with every step she took. He smiled as she pretended to deliberate.

"If you think a five year old should is a suitable chaperone, then yes, this was our first date." She smiled at his petulant look when she mentioned a chaperone. Clary called over her shoulder for Matthew to hurry from his bedroom.

"I'm going to walk you there." Jace stated with a note of finality in his voice. "I don't want you to walk by yourself."

"I've been doing it for five years now, Jace." Clary replied.

"Not when you have a concussion. What time do you get off? I'll pick you up so you don't have to walk." Clary started to shake her head, but Jace interrupted her. "Come on, my Aston Martin has got to beat walking twenty blocks."

"Well, I don't get off until three. That's silly for you to-"

"I don't go to bed until four." He flashed her a pearly white grin. He wasn't taking no for an answer. She rolled her eyes (he noticed that she did that frequently; normally it annoyed him, but on her it was just sexy) but Jace knew he had her. Even though she had escaped serious injury today, that fact that she was deliberately knocked down had her shaken up.

"You're making me feel really guilty." Clary told him as she slipped Matthew into his coat. "I can't pay you back!"

"Pay me back by letting me take you out on Sunday," he insisted, "After the day we spent together today, I can only imagine what a _real_ date will be like."

Clary shook her head and smiled ruefully. As she lifted Mattie up, she noticed that he was still sucking his thumb, and she gently detached his finger from his mouth.

"You know you're not supposed to suck your thumb anymore, Mattie. It's bad for your teeth." Matthew tried to pay attention, he really did, but he was so sleepy that he couldn't focus on her words. His head just lolled against his mommy's shoulder and she sighed.

"I wish I didn't have to take him." She said under her breath just as Jace said "Are you sure you want to take him with you?"

"What did you say?" They both asked at the same time.

"Well, I was just thinking that it's too bad you have to take him to work with you. Maybe I could walk you guys to Taki's, go get my car, come back for Mattie and bring him here, put him to bed and then pick you up at three?" Jace's voice was earnest, but Clary had a hard time buying it. The last time a man acted like he was interested in Mattie, he was just trying to get in her pants.

"I don't know about that," she started reluctantly.

"No, think about it. This is ideal." Jace clapped his hands with relish, "You don't have to worry about Matt tonight. I can stay here with him so that you don't take him to the diner with you. He can sleep in his own bed and be comfortable." Jace was trying to be as persuasive as possible. For once in his life, he wasn't just interested in having sex with a girl; he really wanted to get to know her. He _wanted _to be on her good side, and he wanted a relationship with both her and her son. "I'll just stay here and watch another movie or something. When I pick you up, I'll bring Matt along so he's not home alone, but he doesn't have to wake up or anything. He can just sleep in the car. See? My plan is good."

Clary looked down to see Matthew tugging on her sleeve. "Mommy, please can I stay with Jace? I don't want to go to Taki's." He rubbed at his eyes sleepily and Clary's heart broke.

She sighed and nodded. "Okay. Alright, you win." She leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of his little head. "You two ganged up on me!" She accused.

Jace guided her to the door and winked at her. "You just fell prey to the Wayland charm is all. Don't worry, better men than you have tried and failed."

Clary tried to be mad at him for that arrogant statement, but the twinkle in his eyes made her heart melt. She was falling hard, and she was falling fast.

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**Major props to anyone who caught the two hints I dropped in this chapter and last chapter. I will give a HUGE spoiler to anyone who guesses correctly. Leave it in the reviews. **

**A moderately large spoiler if you can spot my clever moment with names in this chapter.**

**Hehehe… I love this game! It makes me feel really evil. :] **

**Chapter four is now yours for the enjoyment. Hope you liked it. Honestly, this was mostly filler and supposed to be a little fluffy. I listened to a **_**lot**_** of Safetysuit, The Script, Mayday Parade, and Taylor Swift when I wrote this. If you're looking for a little inspiration, go check those bands out. **

**Everyone should check out the story Shadowboxer by nobloodnofoul. It's a Twilight fic and it's absolutely amazing. It's rated M for a reason though. LanguagexLemons. **

**Question time:**

**What music do you listen to for inspiration?**

**What do you think will happen in the next two Mortal Instruments books?**

**As always, anyone who reviews will receive a personal reply with a spoiler for the next chapter. **

**Peace and Love,**

**SpeakNow1118**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own it, blah, blah, blah.**

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_What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Where are your balls, man? _

These were the questions that Jace repeated to himself over and over and over again after he walked Clary to Taki's. Before he left, he touched her neck and drew her close for a kiss. Before he turned to Matthew's giggling figure, he saw Kaelie over the top of Clary's head, and she looked _livid._ Oh well. It's not like they were together. She was just the occasional weekend hook-up. Clary was his focus now.

_What?_

What was he thinking? He had only known Clary for four days and he felt a deep attachment to her. They had so much in common; they proved that earlier today with their one hundred and twenty questions game. They liked the same kind of music. They liked the same sorts of foods. They were both from Brooklyn. They both hated morning talk shows. But their differences made them compatible too; Clary was an artist, Jace couldn't draw a stick figure. Jace was master of the ivory keys; Clary couldn't play "Mary Had a Little Lamb." Jace fluently spoke thirteen languages; Clary spoke only English and Spanish.

"_Favorite color?" She asked him as he played with her fingers._

"_Mmm. Red." Before, Jace's favorite color was black, but meeting Clary changed his mind. "Yours?"_

_Clary sighed dreamily. "I don't have a favorite. I like all of them." Suddenly, her face contorted. "Oh, except pink. I can't stand pink."_

_Jace laughed at her wrinkled nose and leaned forward to kiss it. "Favorite band?"_

"_Too many to name." She giggled and started to tick off the list on her fingers. "I like a lot of different music. Alternative, punk, grunge punk, rock, classical, techno dance, pop, poppy punk…" she trailed off when she saw Jace staring at her in wonder. "What?"_

"_You're amazing." He said whilst shaking his head. "You are unlike any other girl I have ever met. You're into the same kind of music as I am, you're witty and funny, you don't care what anyone else thinks." He turned toward Matthew, who was still sitting on the couch with his empty popsicle wrapper, completely absorbed in whatever cartoon was on. "You're an amazing mother, and you're not even old enough to drink! You blow my mind." He smiled sweetly at the blush on her cheeks and leaned into press his lips to her in a soft kiss. _

He should have been embarrassed to say and do that. Real men don't talk romantic crap like that! A shiver came over his body and he sighed. He was whipped. He was whipped, and Clary wasn't his wife. Clary wasn't even his girlfriend, and she had him eating out of her tiny hands.

_Mmm. Those hands. _

He liked to fantasize about what those hands could do to him, but Jace checked himself. _Take it slow, buddy. Trying to scare her off? Clary isn't that kind of girl. I don't know what happened in the past, but the present Clary will not hesitate to chop something off._

Jace actually winced and moved his hand south in a protective measure. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Matthew's sleeping form with an attractive smile. Jace'd had to carry Mattie for the last seven blocks after the boy had started stumbling in fatigue; the poor kid was completely tuckered out. Jace checked all of his mirrors and looked over his shoulder before pulling out into the heavy New York traffic. It amazed him that even at ten o'clock at night, there was a steady influx of cars to the city; in this particular car, he was overly cautious. The Aston Martin was his _baby_. Any other time, traffic safety laws were more of a helpful hint or suggestion.

It would only take him a few minutes to get back to Clary's apartment and he could slip Mattie into bed and watch a movie. Jace stomach grumbled loudly, an angry reminder that he hadn't eaten very much today. Clary tried to feed him, but she was a small girl. She didn't eat much _at all._ Matthew was like, 10 pounds when he was soaking wet. It was obvious that he didn't eat that much. He idly wondered if Clary had any previously prepared food in the fridge; he couldn't boil water and the grilled cheese sandwiches she made for supper were gobbled up in a few minutes. He sighed and decided to wait until he picked Clary up – maybe he could get some of those beautiful pancakes.

His stomach rumbled at the thought.

He lifted Matthew from the backseat and carried him up the four flights of stairs to Clary's apartment. Deftly juggling the sixty pound boy in his arms and the set of keys that Clary gave him (there were only three on it), he unlocked the door, gently pulled Matthew's coat off and carried him to the small bedroom that Clary graciously gave him. It was painted a happy color; bright blue walls with masterfully decorated murals that he assumed Clary had designed. Covering the walls were a five year olds impressions of the world. A scene at the park, a sketch of a dog. Matthew was obviously taking after his mother.

Jace lay Matthew down on his bed and tucked the light covers up around his precious face. Mattie's arms tucked up around Jace's neck in a quick hug before he turned to his side and slipped his thumb between his teeth.

Jace started to back from the room when he heard a tiny voice whisper, "Jace, I need the nightlight. I need the nightlight, Jace. Please, I'm scared of the dark." Jace's long fingers searched for the light socket, smiling when he saw the baseball shaped nightlight cover.

"Thanks, Jace." Matthew's quiet, sleep-filled voice reached him through the semi-darkness and tugged his heartstrings.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

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"So," a syrupy voice from behind Clary grabbed her attention, "What's with you and Jace?" Clary turned to see a very angry Kaelie standing behind her, the other woman's hands on her hips and eyes narrowed to slits. Clary set the lukewarm pot of coffee back on the burner and turned to face the blonde.

_Hmm. Jace is blonde. Thankfully, Jace is completely natural. Kaelie is definitely out of a bottle._

"What about Jace and me?" Clary asked, mimicking Kaelie's tone and posture.

"Well, he was practically trying to jump your bones when he left." Kaelie's tone rose in pitch for a moment before dropping to its normal squeak. "What are you even doing with him anyway?" Kaelie examined her nails studiously. "He likes more experienced women."

"Is that code for slutty?" Clary asked innocently, her eyes wide and bright with mischief. Kaelie's hand dropped and her eye twitched, the only side of her pent up aggression. Then she cocked her head to the side and smiled.

"And you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Clary? I mean, you are the one that got pregnant at _fifteen._ That messed up kid of yours is living, breathing proof that you are definitely the _more experienced _of us."

Clary's hand jerked forward and slapped Kaelie before she realized what she was doing. The bottle blonde fell back a step and placed a hand on her cheek in shock. Her eyes narrowed again as she reached forward and grabbed Clary's hair, trying to bash her head against the metal counter. Clary deflected the attack by fisting her hand and propelling it into Kaelie's taut stomach, causing the older girl to step back again and lose her breath. Clary managed to unpeel Kaelie's hand from her curls and looked her in the eye.

"Don't you dare, don't you _even _fricking dare to talk about Matthew like that. That five year old is a better person that you will _ever_ be. He's smart and funny and courageous, three things you are completely devoid of." Clary's voice was rising steadily. "Did you ever think that's why Jace doesn't want a relationship with you? Maybe that's why all he does is screw you. He wants someone who can bring more the table that just a quickie." Clary's eyes widened in a nasty fashion when she spoke. She wanted to hurt Kaelie. "Because, let's be honest, Kaelie, that's all you are to any man. Just a quickie in the back room." Clary looked at Kaelie defiantly, standing tall and proud, her breath coming raggedly. Luckily, this little _faux pas _happened in the kitchen; none of the customers saw anything. They might have heard, though. Clary's voice was raised by the end of her little speech. "Stay away from me, stay away from Mattie, and stay away from Jace." Clary turned on her heel and locked herself in the restroom so she could fix her hair and straighten up a bit before returning to the customers.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she hardly recognized the woman looking back at her. The red hair was mussed and out of place. The green eyes were bright, not with tears, but excitement and anger. A tinge of red touched her cheek where the flush of rage had affected her. This woman was a warrior, not the meek and mild Clarissa Fray. Part of Clary was scared, but part of her was completely exhilarated. Only once before in her life had she raised a hand against another human being; she didn't even spank Matthew. Thankfully, he was a good child; the slightest of harsh looks from her would alert him to the fact that he needed to alter his behavior. Only once in his short life did she need to be firmer than a time out, and even then, three days without cartoons made sure that he never pushed another child around. She could count on her hands the number of times she had to strictly discipline her son, but this…

This was completely new sensation. Clary was not one to be pushed around and picked on, but she rarely defended herself so vehemently. Why did she do it? Was it because she had never like Kaelie to begin with? The fact that the mama bear within her had been awakened when Kaelie made fun of Matthew? Or did it have something to do with Jace?

Clary suspected a bit of all three.

Something about Jace drove Clary wild, something she was completely unfamiliar with. She knew that she wasn't beautiful or drop-dead gorgeous, and men like Jace didn't exactly flock to her. Men just didn't flock to her, period. In five years, she had been asked on a date exactly three times. As soon as they arrived and saw Matthew? Forget it. They were gone. Clary was in uncharted territory, and she knew it. Never in her life had Clary been treated this nicely, even by the so-called friends she'd had in her life before Mattie. Certainly not after she got pregnant _and_ kept the baby. But here was this stunningly beautiful man who seemed to like children and apparently was attracted to her. The fact that Jace saw past the stereotype of Clary's teenage motherhood only made him all the sexier.

Clary realized that she was being completely insensible. What future could she possibly have with Jace? The facts are facts. She was a teen mom working a dead end job at a diner. She had very little money and a GED. Jace was the star basketball player at Columbia University who had loads of money and was going to be a doctor. Clary didn't believe in fairytales; especially not this kind. There was no way that this was coming true. Guys like Jace liked the thrill of the conquest, and she had no desire to be a name in that little black book.

She leaned down to the sink and cupped her hands under the water, bringing them up to splash her flushed face. Reaching over to grab a few paper towels to dry the sensitive skin, she caught another glance in the mirror and paused. Now the reflection was losing its warrior-like quality and the docile young girl was returning to her body. Patting her face dry, she wondered what Jace saw in her.

_Could Jace really be any different than him? _

Clary thought back to that fateful night and gasped as the long since stamped down memories assaulted all of her senses. She could hear similar sounds in the cacophony of clattering plates, Muzak and soft voices from beyond the restroom door. The smells of the food mingled with the odor of stale cigarette smoke to recreate (though she knew it was psychosomatic) the smell of that tiny room. Flashes of light burst in front of her eyes and she could see _him_ in front of her in the mirror. Jerking back in alarm, she slipped and fell backwards, hitting her shoulder off the wall and sliding to the ground. She sat there for a few moments while her heart rate slowed and her breathing regulated.

Jace _had_ to be different than him. Jace wasn't a monster. Jace was good and kind – or so she was lead to believe, if her first impressions of him were right. Well, her second impression. Her first impression was that he was a conceited bastard who liked messing with people's heads. Her second and third time around him made Clary believe otherwise, and until she had proof of his deception, she would continue dating him. After all, she could always break up with him, right?

Clary was afraid that it wouldn't be that easy.

Finally satisfied that she was calmed down enough, she returned to work, serving coffee, taking orders, delivering food, uncomfortably accepting flirtatious comments and looks. Working at night meant less customers, which meant less tips; however, Taki's was so popular that even at three in the morning, there were a few people to be waited on, especially men and women that needed to sate their hunger after a long night of clubbing. Men in particular stopped at night, perhaps hoping to chance a look at one of the three regular night waitresses: Clary, Kaelie and Maia Most of them dropped hints that the women were welcome to ditch work and come home with them. Smiling and flirting back made her feel _unbelievably_ cheap, but the extra tip money went a long way. Her almost non-existent college fund for Mattie was based on this money.

So she took in stride. Gritting her teeth, she threw a charming smile at the pimply, overweight, leering man at table six before heading over to take his order. She asked what she could get him and he replied, "Only you, Sweetheart. That's all I really need."

She giggled and pretended to be allured. In reality though, she just wanted to be sick. "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much, fella." Playing hard to get was a gamble; if the man was intrigued, it could mean better tips or more unwanted attention. If he was turned off, it meant very little attention, but the risk of a bad tip was always present. "What can I get you off the menu?"

The man motioned for her to lean in closer, to which she complied while fighting back the nausea. He sniffed at her hair and smiled. "Grapefruit, huh? One of my favorites. I'll tell you what. You surprise me. Bring me something you think I'll like. If I do, I'll make it worth your while. If I don't like it, you make it worth _my_ while."

Apparently, he was the former choice. Clary swallowed hard and tried not to let her discomfort show through. By his wardrobe, Clary guessed that this man was rich, and she _needed _the money.

"Aw, thanks Sugar, but my boyfriend wouldn't like that. I _can_ promise, however, that you will love what I bring you. You got any aversion whatsoever to pancakes?"

He grumbled and shot her a look at her refusal, but he nodded gruffly. "Pancakes sound good."

Clary smiled at him again and a little bit of the dangerous look in his eyes returned. "What do you want on them, Hon?" She internally winced. Calling this lecher a pet name was not going to dissuade him.

"Blueberry and grapefruit. I guess that's the closest I'll get to eating you tonight, isn't it?" He winked in what she assumed he thought was sexy, but she just wanted to gag.

"Right away, sir." She smiled through it all placed the order. Maia came up beside her to add an order to the spinning wheel that the cook used and bumped Clary's hip.

"How's it going, Girl?"

"Alright, I guess." Clary replied softly. "I sort of feel like I need to take a shower, though."

Maia glanced around and saw the man at table six. "Oh, I see that you have Finn tonight." She mused.

Clary groaned and nodded. "He ordered grapefruit on his pancakes because, and I quote, 'It's the closest I'll get to eating you tonight.'" She cringed and pretended to vomit.

Maia's musical laugh filled the air as she replied, "That's a new one! I'll have to remember that one." She moved away gracefully, almost dancing, Clary noted with envy. This was going to be a long night.

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…

Three A.M. couldn't come fast enough.

Luckily, there was only forty-five minutes before the end of her shift.

Clary, in typical Clary-fashion, started worrying about Matthew an hour after her shift started.

_I mean, really… What do I know about Jace? He could have been lying about everything. What if he's some pervert who signed up to coach Little League so he could be around little kids? What if Mattie gets hurt? What if Jace gets hurt? What if Jace hurts Mattie? What if Mattie gets kidnapped? What if-_

Her panicked thoughts were interrupted by the gasp of a man. She looked down and saw that the coffee cup she was filling was now overflowing to the point of spilling across the table. Clary jerked back and scrambled to grab the dishcloth from the next table to clean the mess. She muttered hasty apologies and accepted his curses and glare with grace – before she ran to the backroom and into Maia.

"Whoa, easy, Girl. What's wrong?"

Clary rubbed her eyes and pushed her hair back away from her face before answering. "I left Matthew with my sort-of boyfriend tonight." Maia's eyebrows raised a few notches and Clary blushed.

"I didn't know you had a 'sort of' boyfriend. What's he like?" Maia was suddenly very excited. She loved this sort of thing.

"Seriously?" Asked Clary incredulously, "I say that I leave my five year old son with a strange man and all you can think about is the fact that we might be together?"

"So he's weird? You said he was strange." Maia looked interested. Clary's hands flew into the air and she groaned. "I'm kidding, honey. What's he like? Do you trust him?"

Clary shrugged and reached for the coffee pot to pour herself a cup. "I don't know. I've only known him for a few days. He assistant coaches Mattie's Little League team. He seems really nice, but so did Norman Bates before he went all psycho and stuff." She took a fortifying sip of coffee and sighed. "Maybe I'm just freaking out over nothing." Clary set her cup down and handed an order slip to the cook through the window. "I keep imagining him getting hurt or kidnapped or something. What is wrong with me?" Clary dropped her head into her hands in frustration. "I am a planner. I plan _everything_. Everything. Nothing escapes me. Then Jace waltzes in and flashes me a smile and a look with those golden eyes and I forget everything!" She muffled a shriek of aggravation in her hands.

"Golden eyes, huh?" Maia mused. "Well, Miss Fray, it sounds to me like you're falling for this guy."

"No," Clary muttered. "Falling for someone involves lack of control. That's the one thing I need in my life. I need to be orderly and organized and put together and-"

"Love isn't practical, Clary. Hate to break it to you. Set another date with this guy. Hell, if it makes you feel better, do a background check on him. But go out again. You need a little _fun_ in your life." Maia shot her a meaningful look and pranced from the room. Clary groaned again.

"Hey, Joe?" She called to the cook. He looked up and nodded at her. "Can you throw some more pancakes on the grill? I need some love."

He smiled and poured the batter on the sizzling griddle, reveling in the hissing sound of happiness.

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A half hour before the end of her shift, Clary looked out the window out the lighted darkness of Manhattan. Even at three in the morning, there was always light in the city. What startled her was the sight of Jace lifting a sleeping Matthew from the backseat of his car. A muffled noise of surprise pierced the seal of her lips. She watched in speculation when Mattie's limp arms wrapped around Jace's neck and held tightly. Jace held him a bit awkwardly, but that was excusable. He had very little practice. He got the hang of it though; Matthew's legs wrapped around Jace's waist and he neatly tucked his head against the side of Jace's neck when Jace enfolded his back and knees.

Jace carefully opened the door and entered the small diner, smiling a sheepish grin at Clary over the top of Matthew's head. "I really wanted some pancakes. So I came early." Clary smiled back at him and pointed at a tiny corner booth where Matthew could stretch out and continue his sleep with little interruption. Clary leaned down and brushed Mattie's hair back from his face before dropping a light kiss on the warm skin of his face.

"So, what does a man have to do to get served around here?" Jace's voice was teasing and Clary looked up with a smile.

"What can I get you?" She asked, slipping into a professional tone.

"Hmm." Jace tapped his finger against his lips and pretended to think carefully about his decision. "I'll have the coconut pancakes and a large coffee, if you please, ma'am."

"Sounds good. That's what I'm having too. And by the way, who are you calling 'ma'am'?" Clary was in a much better mood now that she was reassured of Matthew's safety.

"Oh, I think you definitely heard me. Hop to it, woman!" As she turned, Jace made a snap decision to reach out and boldly tap her behind as she spun and walked away to place his order. She jumped a little, turned to look at him with wide eyes and smiled shakily. Clary liked it, but she knew she shouldn't.

Oh boy. She was definitely in trouble.

Maia was waiting to ambush her behind the safety of the counter. The words flew from her mouth at a million miles an hour. "Who is that? Is that him? Why does he have Matthew? Why did he smack your butt? Is he going home with you?"

Clary put an end to her incessant talking by clamping a hand over her mouth. "Yes, that's Jace. He has Mattie because he babysat, remember? He smacked my butt to be funny, I guess. Not that it's any of your business." She added with a sniff. Clary looked down at the untouched pancakes in front of her and sighed. "Guess I'll just box these up and take them home."

A wicked smile came into Maia's eyes. "No, no. You get his stuff and go eat with him. We're slow right now and I can handle your tables. Go eat with your man!" Clary tried to protest, but Maia wouldn't hear of it. She crammed the two plates of pancakes in Clary's hands, precariously balanced the coffee on top and forcibly turned the redhead away, playfully smacking at Clary's butt as she walked away.

"Just to be funny, dear." Maia laughed.

Clary tripped out to the table where Jace sat and slid in next to him. "Coffee and pancakes?"  
>She asked as she leaned down to take a bite. Jace smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he used his fork to cut a piece of honey-drenched coconut pancake.<p>

They stayed like that until four thirty, talking and refilling their coffee cups again and again. Finally, Clary reluctantly unwrapped his arms and stated that they needed to go. It was Saturday, so there were no classes for Jace or Matthew, but Clary didn't want to sleep the day away. Jace paid the check (much to Clary's ire) and lifted Mattie into the car once more. It took them five minutes to get to Clary's apartment, another five to get Matthew up the stairs and in bed, and another half hour before they could force their lips to untangle. Clary breathlessly pushed Jace out the front door, feeling every bit the rebellious teenager and promised to see him on Sunday.

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…

The next morning, Clary woke to the sounds of a somewhat muted television. She sat up, groggily pushing her chaotic bedhead hairdo away from her face. Glancing at the clock, she stood and went to make coffee.

"Mommy, do you love Jace? I do." Matthew was fiddling with something on the carpet, perhaps it was a loose string or stray bug that had fallen to the ground. The apartment was eerily silent for several moments after that bombshell question, and Clary stood gripping the table, her ragged breath escaping in small panting noises. He had no idea the gravity of the question he had just asked, the seriousness of the statement he'd made. A five year olds mind simply didn't work that way. Mattie looked up at her with an odd expression on his face; he was concerned by her lack of answer.

"Mommy, are you okay? You look funny."

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**I suck. I really do. I'm sorry. My internet connection died for a few days, so I couldn't upload this chapter. But, I do have everything planned. **

**I'm really disappointed. Only, like, two people even tried to guess at the hint. *Shakes head and sighs.* If someone can guess after **_**this **_**chapter, I will give you the longest spoiler I have ever given. I'll give you a big spoiler if you even take a stab at guessing. I wanna know what you people think. : ) **

**Or if you guess what character Finn was based on.**

**Hehe.**

**Question time:**

**What is your opinion of Twilight?**

**What is your favorite line in this chapter?**

**Do you watch the Glee Project? (Who do you root for?)**

**Peace and Love,**

**SpeakNow1118 **


	6. Chapter 6

**Blah. I suck. I'm sensing a pattern with this phrase. **

**I don't own this.**

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"Mommy? Are you okay?" Matthew got to his feet and stumbled somewhat clumsily to where Clary was standing, still in shock over the turn her morning had taken. It was way too early to attack such raw subjects. She hadn't even had her coffee yet!

Clary knelt to Matthew's eye level. "Matthew, that's not a good question. Baby, you don't love someone so fast. You have to get to know them first."

Matthew looked at his mother with serious eyes. "You're a liar then, Mommy."

Clary was completely taken aback. "I've never lied to you! Liars have to get spanked, and Mommy hasn't been spanked since she was very, very little. Now what made you say that?"

Matthew's answer was quick and unexpected. "But you said you loved me before I was born. You didn't know me before I was born. How could you love me if it takes time to get to know someone before you can love them?"

Clary rocked back on her heels and sighed. Sometime she hated how smart Matthew was. It really threw a wrench in her parental control sometimes.

"The love a mommy has for her children is different."

"Why?"

"It just is."

"Why?"

"Because," Clary said, not past the point of exasperation just yet, "When God made the world and all his angels, he made mommies differently. He made sure that no matter the baby came out, and no matter how the baby was made, that his or her mommy would love them forever. And forever includes before they were born. Do you understand now?" Clary was proud of that answer, it had only taken her a few seconds to come up with it after being blindsided. And all of that with no coffee.

Matthew finally relented. "Okay, I guess I understand."

Clary dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Okay. Go get dressed now, you have practice in a few hours. What do you want for breakfast?"

Matthew scampered off, talking to himself about pancakes or waffles or eggs. Clary smiled and rolled her eyes as she stood, then rubbed a hand over her face.

She really needed the coffee.

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…

Jace crept up behind Clary and wrapped his arms around her hips. When she jumped and threw an elbow (which he barely managed to dodge) he spun her around and said, "Whoa-ho, easy there, tiger. Calm it down a notch."

Clary's face was flushed and her sparking green eyes were a little frightened, but when she saw who it was, she calmed herself down.

"Do _not_ do that to me, Jace." Her voice was angry, but her face was smiling sneakily. After a second, Jace realized why. Out of nowhere, Matthew cam flying down onto his back, yelling and screaming as he tried to…

Tickle him?

Was Matthew really trying to tickle him?

Jace just did not know what to do with that.

He stood awkwardly by as Matthew's small fingers somewhat painfully dug into his sides. Clary watched Jace's discomfort with amusement for a few moments before telling Matthew to get down and go over to the other coaches. She watched as he ran over to his team before turning to Jace, who was lifting his black t-shirt to his chest and examining his sides.

"I think your son is going to leave bruises." He looked up at her with a quirked eyebrow then back to his supple waist. Clary was too busy gazing at the perfectly tanned skin that covered Jace's beyond washboard abs. When Jace looked up at her again, he noticed her staring and smiled. He dropped the black fabric, causing Clary to snap from her awed reverie and look at his golden eyes. He took two slow steps toward her in an _almost_ threatening way, but really, it was just sexy.

"Look all you want, Fray. You're not the first." Jace's head cocked to the side as he smiled dangerously. Clary could feel something stirring in her stomach, and she took a step back, crossing one leg behind the other as her eyes widened and she leaned away. Jace followed the curve of her body with his as he leaned in towards her. One of his hands came up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, the other rested on her stomach, and his face drew even closer. Just as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers, he stopped and whispered, "I'm looking forward to our date tonight." His golden eyes flicked towards the team and back to hers. "I guess I should go now. See you later." He inhaled deeply and smiled. "You smell _very_ good." He paused once more, his hand still on her fluttering belly. "Wear something nice tonight."

_Amazing… _Clary thought, _How is it that he can do all this? I can _barely _breathe, let alone speak coherently._

As Jace stepped away, Clary shook her head to clear it and gulped down some oxygen. Her heart rate was a million beats a minutes. Her stomach was clenching in desire. She had never felt this way about anyone before, it was completely foreign. And Jace… That bastard. Of course, she wasn't really surprised. Of course he knew how to do that. He was a womanizer, he displayed all the signs. Maybe she should just cancel…

"Don't even think about it." Clary jumped as her mental question was answer. A bit foolishly, she realized that the dark haired man that was walking past her was speaking into his phone. Rolling her eyes, she made her way to the bleachers.

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…

Jace knocked nervously on the door, feeling every bit the embarrassed middle school date. But that was ridiculous; even in middle school he hadn't been this clumsy with the ladies. Really, it was just pathetic now. Jace looked down and fiddle with the flowers he had specially ordered for Clary. He had agonized over picking this particular bunch; he didn't want something pretentious or showy, Clary wasn't like that. In the end, Jace decided on a selection that was comprised of three white and two red roses, an orchid and three lilies. It was simple, yet elegant. Just like Clary.

Jace's breath caught when Clary opened the door. She was dressed in a simple dark blue sheath dress that set off her red hair perfectly. Smokey black eyeliner adorned her luminous green eyes in a way that made her exotic and mysterious. Her shiny red hair was flat ironed perfectly straight; it hung to the top of her waist, swaying seductively as she walked. A pair of black heels adorned her feet, making her legs go n for miles. The light dusting of freckles on her face was covered by a thin layer of foundation. She was radiant. Simply radiant. Even though her dress was obviously a very cheap article of clothing, perhaps bought at the one of the local thrift stores, it emphasized her slim curves and fitted her body with a perfection that would make even supermodels jealous.

"Um, w-wow." Jace stammered and then mentally face palmed himself. _Way to sound in control, stupid._ "You look beautiful." And then he mentally face-palmed himself. Again.

He was supposed to be cool. He was supposed to be suave. And yet, looking at Clary looking at him with those big green eyes, he had entirely forgotten all of the lines he had practiced in the car on the way here. She was going to open the door and he was going to wow her with all his flirtatious behavior and gentlemanly knowledge. Then it all went completely out the door as soon as he saw her.

A shy smile bloomed on her face as she murmured a thank you. He stepped forward and pressed a small kiss to her lips before pulling back and looking at her eyes. "You have beautiful eyes." He commented as he stepped back and looked down at his feet, noticing once more the flowers in his hands.

Clary flushed as he complimented her and hastily handed her the lovely bunch of flowers in his hands.

"These are for you."

"Thank you." Clary retreated back into the apartment to place the beautiful array of flowers in a vase. She stood there for a moment, pretending to arrange the flowers as she calmed herself down, taking a few deep breaths as her heart rate slowed.

Slowly, she turned on her heel to face Jace. The corner of his mouth lifted up in a lopsided smile as he offered up his arm. She took it, grateful for the support it lent. Truth be told, she was quite shaky, unstable on her heels.

"Are you ready?" Jace asked.

Clary smiled and nodded, but asked, "Where are we going?"

Jace grinned. "Well… how do you feel about sushi?" His eyebrow quirked up with the question, "I made reservations at a really nice sushi bar."

Clary's smile wavered, but Jace did not pick up on it. "Sounds great!" She exclaimed weakly, "Let's go."

_Yeah, let's go so we can get it over with…_Clary thought. She'd never had sushi before, and she was scared to try it. The idea of raw meat was little off-putting.

Jace smiled at her again before leading her to the door.

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The restaurant was very, _very_, nice, there was no denying that. Clary was a little uncomfortable as Jace led her in and gave the Japanese waiter their names… in Japanese. The waiter, named Akio, responded, his mouth moving rapidly as words that sounds musical flowed from his mouth. Akio led them to a small room, completely sequestered from the rest of the restaurant.

Clary was definitely nervous now.

Her eyes widened as she saw the table; it was set low to the ground, the chairs reminder her of giant bean bags. Clary started a little as Jace's hand touched her shoulder, gently peeling her jacket off and hanging it on the small coat rack in the corner. His jacket joined hers before he sauntered back to the table and sat opposite her.

Jace looked up at Clary curiously. _Why is she just standing there?_

"Uh… Babe?"

Clary's eyes snapped toward Jace's face. "What?"

"Are you gonna sit down?"

"Um… how?"

Jace's eyebrows rose. He knew what she was getting at, but having a little fun at her expense was definitely on the bill tonight.

"You don't know how to sit?"

Her green eyes, so highlighted and defined by the eyeliner, narrowed. "Yes, I know how to sit. I mean how do I sit on the bean bag chair? I'm in a dress."

Jace stood and made his way to her. A small smile played on his lips as he took her in her arms and kissed the top of her head. Suddenly, he fell. Clary gasped as Jace landed on his back, Clary on his chest. He smiled up at her as he sat up and held her in his lap.

"Sitting accomplished." Jace quipped.

Clary playfully pushed at his chest before snuggling against him. Jace smiled against her hair and held her closer. Something about the girl drove him crazy. Her face, her wit, her mind, even her scent! He inhaled deeply, reveling in the hints of grapefruit and strawberry. His hands wrapped around her waist as he moved her to sit between his legs, leaning her back into his chest. He started to make out with her neck- just as Akio walked back in the room. Clary scrambled away from him, much to Jace's annoyance. She moved to the other side of the table, sitting on her hip and sliding her legs to the side. She leaned on her left hand and looked down at the table, a _very_ attractive flush on her face.

Akio placed drink menus in front of each of them and stepped back, allowing the young couple to peruse the menu for a moment before retrieving their drinks. Jace nodded once and ordered a small glass of _sake_ with a water before looking up questioningly. Clary glanced at the menu, shrugged and ordered a glass of ice water.

Jace frowned. "You can order anything you want, Babe."

"I'm not old enough to drink."

Akio nodded, placed another menu on the table, and disappeared as Jace mentally face-palmed himself. He was an idiot. He had _completely_ forgotten that Clary was only twenty.

"Sorry." He muttered.

" 'S okay." Clary smiled at him when she picked up the menu/ The second she glanced down, her eyes widened. This place was _expensive._

Jace picked up the menu and peered over the top at Clary. "Anything catch your eye?" He asked, curious at what she would pick.

She shrugged again, a little uncomfortable. "Whatever you order will be fine. You pick for me."

Jace smiled again (he noticed he was doing that a lot lately). This was going to be fun.

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…

"Okay, so we have our basic sushi dishes here," Jace stated, using his chopsticks to point to each individual dish, "Miso soup, an assortment of sashimi, unagi, ichiban, island rolls, California rolls, tempura rolls, avocado rolls…" He trailed off, unsure of what Clary would like. She was looking at the food rather suspiciously. "What's wrong?" Clary looked up at him as she picked at a piece of sashimi.

"I've never had sushi before. Not even the crappy stuff on the lower West End or Coney Island."

Jace snorted. "Well, you'll never have better, I can promise you that. Try this one." He pointed at the tuna sashimi. "It's my favorite." He proved it by snatching a piece and easily slipping it in his mouth.

Clary took a deep breath, picked the piece of fish up, and closed her eyes as she placed it on the tip of her tongue. She closed her lips, chewed the bite, swallowed and opened her eyes to see Jace staring at her with amusement on her face.

"Well?" He smirked, feeling anxious on the inside. If she didn't like the food, the first date was officially screwed. First, the waiter walked on in some serious PDA. Second, he forgot she can't drink. Third, she hated the food. Jace could see it now.

Clary smiled and nodded as she took another piece. "You were right. It's really good."

Jace's eyes closed as he breathed a sigh of relief. This date was salvaged.

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It was late, late, late at night. Jace looked at the dashboard clock in the Aston Martin. It read 2:34 AM. They were sitting in the car, just talking. Clary was giggling in the passenger seat, her hand snugly wrapped in Jace's. The night was perfect. Nothing could ruin Jace's high.

Except four little words.

"I have to go."

"Why?" Jace whined.

"I have to work tomorrow." Clary's head cocked to the side. "Is this the part of the night where you say 'Stay forever?'"

"And give you something else to laugh at me about? I don't think so, Honey."

Clary giggled again and leaned over to kiss him goodnight. Jace's hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Clary scooted a little closer, only to grunt and move back.

"What? What's wrong?" Jace asked, concerned.

"Your gearshift just tried to kill me."

"Sorry."

"Eh, not your fault."

Jace smiled and kissed her again. After another moment, Clary pulled back and opened the car door.

"Wait!" Jace called. Clary leaned down and looked at him once more. "What time do you work tomorrow, or today, I guess?"

"One to eight. "

"I'll pick you up after work. We can go get dinner."

"I'll have Matthew with me." She warned.

"Good."

Clary smiled and nodded. She waved as she backed towards the door of the apartment. Once she was safely inside her apartment, she let loose, flopping onto the couch's pullout bed and screaming into a pillow. The night had started off shakily, with the unfortunate incident with the waiter, then Jace forgot she couldn't drink. But it ended perfectly.

Perfectly.

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**So there you have it. **

**Yeah. **

**School started. **

**I'm taking 12 courses. **

**I only had room for 10. **

**That's why I'm so busy.**

**That, and my hard drive is still dead. I'm limited to writing when I can manage to snag a few minutes on my friend's computer. Hopefully, I'll have a computer again soon. **

**Also, please pray for the region of Central Pennsylvania where I live. There was some devastating flooding. My family and home escaped damage, but many other people in the surrounding counties have been forced from their homes. **

**Question time:**

**Are you on Twitter/Facebook? I love chatting with my readers and if anyone is interested in friending/following, send me a private message. : )**

**What is your all-time favorite book and/or movie.**

**Do you watch **_**Switched at Birth**_** on ABC family?**

**Tell me what you wanna see. **

**Leave me some love. **

**Not hate. **

**I'm not a fan of hate. **

**Or flames. **

**I like love. **

**; )**


	7. Chapter 7

Clary trudged into the diner, Matthew in tow. She was exhausted to the point where each step was painful. After the long nights with Jace and an early morning with a cranky Matthew, her whole body ached, her head pounded. Clary took Matthew's hand and gently pulled him inside with her, taking a few seconds to swipe her hand over her son's forehead. Still hot. Poor buddy. He was coming down with a nasty bug. After she picked Matthew up from across the hall, he'd curled up in her arms… and started coughing up a lung. Now he had a fever, and he kept complaining of an upset stomach.

"Mommy, I don't feel good." Matthew's voice, mumbling and quiet reached her ears with apprehension. She knelt and looked at Mattie, who was clutching a small, orange pillow and a light patchwork blanket. He was flushed; his nose was runny. Matthew looked miserable.

"I know, Baby. When we get to the diner, go into the back and lay down with Blanky and Pillow. Okay? I'll bring you a snack a little later on." She ran her hand over Matthew's forehead again. "Do you want some milk? Or juice?" She was worried now; Matthew rarely got sick, and he even more rarely complained about feeling ill. "What do you want to drink, Honey?"

Matthew's little face crumbled slightly as he thought about it. "Just some tea, please, Mama."

Clary smiled and nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple, secretly trying to take his temperature again. Was it just her, or was Matthew getting warmer?

"Alright, Baby. I'll bring some in. Let's just keep going so we can get there." Clary stood up again and took Matthew's hand, gently tugging him along. She was _really_ starting to get worried.

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Another hour, another cup of coffee. She checked the clock more often that necessary, willing eight o'clock to come faster. Every fifteen minutes, Clary tiptoed into the back room to check on Matthew. She was so grateful to Angela for allowing Mattie to occupy the back of the diner while Clary worked. Better yet, Angela was fond enough of Matthew that she had even set up a small futon and an even smaller television set with a built in VCR. Matthew lay back there now; his small arm hanging off of the couch, his body tucked inside ratty blue footy pajamas, wrapped in a blanket, his green eyes pitifully dull as he watched Bugs Bunny cartoons.

It was seven o'clock when Clary, on her second fifteen minute break, sat down on the worn cover of the futon, tucking her short khaki skirt modestly beneath her. Matthew's eyes flicked to her for a moment before he restlessly turned on his side and slipped his thumb between his lips. Clary reached out reflexively in an attempt to remove the appendage, but thought better of it. Though she was trying to break him of the habit, she didn't see how one day of lax enforcement would hurt him. Instead, she reached to tuck a sweat dampened strawberry blond curl behind his ear. She looked away for a moment to place a new glass of water on the small T.V. table next to his head.

"How are you feeling, Buddy?"

A small moan came from the small body. "Not good, Mommy. When can we go home? I just want to go to sleep." His eyes fluttered closed and he shifted again, reaching for his water.

Clary's heart broke as she stroked his hair again. "Soon, Baby, I promise. I'm so sorry that I had to work tonight. I know you don't feel good." She leaned down and kissed his forehead again. "Do you want something to eat? Maybe a pancake or some toast?"

Matthew just shook his head in misery. Clary sat back against the couch and pulled him into her lap. He sat sideways, leaning his temple against her shoulder and sucked his thumb. Clary could feel his small, shallow breaths against her collarbone. She tried to comfort him as much as possible, rubbing his back and murmuring to him. She was at a loss as to what to do for her sick five year old son.

"How about some applesauce? Will you please try to eat a little bit of applesauce for me? I think it will make your tummy feel better. Matthew just shook his head again trying not to let the tears fall from his eyes, and Clary tucked her chin over his hair. "Alright. Just lean back and relax for a little bit again. Mommy's here for a little bit."

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Finally, it was eight o'clock. Clary rushed into the back room to gather her jacket, Matthew's blanket, and pillow. Her son was sleeping, albeit fitfully, and Clary realized that she would have to take a cab. In her head, she did the math, and it wasn't good. She got paid tomorrow, but until then, she was broke. She would need to break out the emergency credit card. Gritting her teeth, she lifted Matthew as gently as she could and laid his cheek on her shoulder. Trying to move as fluidly as possible, she turned to the door… and directly into Jace's chest.

She gasped and nearly dropped Matthew. "Don't _do_ that!" She hissed at the tall blonde.

Jace's eyes appraised her. "Sorry," he murmured. "Kaelie told me that you were back here collecting Matt. I thought I would surprise you for our date tonight…" He saw the look on her face and quickly, but with a sinking feeling, "That you forgot about." Jace started to back up towards the door.

"Oh, Jace, no. I'm so sorry. I completely forgot. Mattie's sick and I was so wrapped up in that that I just-"

Jace put a hand up to stop her. "It's fine. Really." _Not._ He added to himself. He was looking forward to spending some time with her. Or maybe the night. He flicked his chin up towards Matthew. "How is he?"

Clary looked at the sleepy boy in her arms, now slightly roused from the movement and noise. "Not good. He almost never gets sick. He hasn't eaten at all today. A-a-and he's not slept much at all. I'm really starting to get worried now. I think I'm going to have to take him to the doctor tomorrow."

"Mmm, no, Mommy. No doctors." Matthew rubbed his nose against her shoulder before settling his head on her shoulder again and closing his eyes. Clary sighed through her nose and looked up at the ceiling helplessly.

"What about you? Have you eaten today?" Jace asked. She shook her head and looked at Matthew again.

"I'm so sorry Jace, but I don't think I can come with you tonight. Rain check?" She added hopefully.

Jace drew in a long breath. "I don't think so." Clary's face fell, her eyes downcast. "Whoa, whoa," Jace reached out and tucked a stray red curl away from her face. "I'm not taking a rain check because I'm coming to your apartment with you." Clary's eyes lit up and she smiled. Jace would do anything for that smile. "I'll take you home and then I'll go pick something up. Anything you want. Pizza? Chinese? Indian?" He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her out. "What my woman wants, she gets." Clary smiled and turned her face into Jace's arm.

"Anything sounds good. I'm just hungry."

"Pizza it is." Jace opened the front door of the diner as Clary waved to Maia, who just arrived for her shift. "Let me have Matt. You look dead on your feet." He gently wrestled Matthew away from Clary, who protested only slightly. She really was done in. It had been a busy day at the diner, and adding that to the little sleep she had received the night before made her slightly scared of dropping Matthew. When they got to his car, Jace opened the door for her silently, then walked around and carefully placed Matthew in the back seat, buckled him, and drove to Clary's apartment.

Five minutes of being in the car sent Clary and Matthew right to sleep. Jace just chuckled.

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Clary woke up sometime later in her apartment, her head buried in a pillow, her feet elevated, and a gentle pressure on her legs that moved up and down, from the balls of her feet to the backs of her knees. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked down to see a pair of hands with long, lean fingers gently massaging her calves. She rolled on to her back and looked at Jace through bleary eyes. Sitting up, she managed to recognize what was going on. She was asleep, asleep at her apartment. On her couch. With Jace. Jace was rubbing her legs, making her feel all sort of tingly things. The smile that he gave Clary made her insides melt into a pool of fiery lava.

"Hi." Clary murmured, trying to clear her sleep-garbled voice.

"Hello." Jace murmured back before wrapping his warm hands around the back of her neck, guiding her in for the sexiest kiss she had ever received. Jace made a noise in the back of his throat that had Clary clambering into his lap, trying to get closer.

The voice in the back of her head tried to make her stop; it screamed "What are you doing? He's going to hurt you, just like everyone else did." But she couldn't stop. If this is what caused pain, she would take the heartbreak any day. She wanted more. Of him, of them, she didn't know. Didn't care. She just needed more.

Now straddling his lap, her hands tangled in his hair, drawing his head closer to hers as their lips crashed over each other, his hands slipping under the hem of her wrinkled, untucked shirt to caress her hips. Jace's lips opened under hers, silently begging for permission to enter her mouth. She granted it.

Only when starbursts flitted in front of her eyes and her lungs felt ready to burst did she break the kiss. Panting, Clary tilted her head forward until their foreheads met. Jace's amber eyes held hers as his teeth trapped her swollen lower lip and tugged with the sweetest pressure, pressure that made her feel ready to implode.

She didn't really care what her inner voice was telling her. She was falling for Jace, and falling hard.

Logic was against her.

They hadn't known each other long.

She had a five year old son, and he was in college.

This would never work.

She moved away from Jace, falling off of his lap into the seat next to him. She shook her head to clear her mind before looking again at Jace, who was rubbing his face in his hands, elbows balanced on his knees. He peeked out at her from the corner of his eyes. "Too much?" He asked.

She too rubbed her eyes before looking at him again. "Maybe just a little too soon."

"I'm sorry." Jace muttered, standing up and pulling his jacket from the back of the couch.

"Wait, where are you going?" Clary said, slightly panicked now, eyes wide.

"I was going to go home…" Jace trailed off. "Unless you want me to stay." Clary nodded eagerly and moved over to make for him on the couch again. Jace smiled and collapsed next to her once more.

"Should we try that over again?" Clary asked bashfully, a small, shy smile on her face as she looked up at him through her lashes. "What time is it, even?" She questioned, looking around the apartment to find the small clock that Matthew continued to move.

Jace glanced at the expensive diver's watch on his wrist. "A little after midnight."

"You let me sleep for four hours?" Clary screeched. "Where's Mattie?" She flew from the couch like a wild woman.

Jace reached over and grabbed her shoulders, gently pushing her back to the couch. "He's in his room, asleep. Well, maybe not anymore. That scream may or may not have woken the dead." He smirked at her.

Clary made a face at Jace before rushing into Matthew's room to check on him. Brushing her wrist across Mattie's temple, she took his temperature again. Still hot, but not noticeably more so. "Guess we're going to the doctor tomorrow, Bug." Clary sighed, and then smiled. She had not called him Bug in a long time. She leaned in, kissed his temple, and stood to face Jace, now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest, a slight smile on his face. Clary was really growing to love that smile, wanting to see it more and more, willing to do nearly anything to see it again. She walked to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled again.

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That was the first time Jace spent the night at Clary's apartment. They ate the now cold pizza, Clary's grumbling stomach happily accepting the cheesy goodness. They talked more; finally falling asleep in each other's arms around three-thirty. When Jace woke, he was lying beneath Clary. One of his legs was bent at the knee, leant against the back of the couch. She was between his legs; their hips pressed together, her face mashed against his collarbone. His arm was draped over the small of her back, his head tipped back on the armrest of the couch.

She must have fallen asleep in his lap, and he must have fallen asleep on the couch.

She smiled in her sleep and turned her cheek to the other side, unconsciously attempting to make herself more comfortable on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, but alas, she was stirring. The arm that was limply hanging off the edge of the couch moved to his eyes, rubbing the fatigue away. He looked down at the pleasant weight on his chest and began to soothingly rub her back to wake her up. Thinking back to last night, she seemed to like being woken by a massage.

It was nine o'clock in the morning now, and even though she didn't have to work, he knew that she wanted to take Matthew to the doctor's office today, and that she hated wasting time away.

"Clary," his voice was rough and scratchy; he cleared his throat and tried again. "Clary, Babe, wake up."

"Mmm?" She murmured and turned her head again. He smiled. It could wait a few minutes.

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Clary ended up waking quite a bit later, closer to eleven, but Jace was content to let her rest on his chest. He never wanted her to leave.

_What's wrong with you? _His inner voice was talking to him, undermining those feelings. _You know you're only in this for the chase, so get on it. You can't afford these feelings. You're here to get in her pants and get the hell out. Get back on track. She has a kid. You can't risk that. You'll screw up your pro career if you get involved with a parasite like that. Get her to give it up and move on._

Jace's inner commentary was getting the better of him. Maybe it was right. He really shouldn't get involved with someone like her.

But she was so beautiful, and strong, and brave, and independent. He could already tell that he needed her. If he was being honest, that's all it started out as – him chasing a hot piece of ass. Again. In the beginning, all he wanted was for her to be underneath him, hearing her scream his name in pleasure while he buried himself in her soft, warm body over and over again, until he was satisfied. But not anymore. Jace's feelings were causing problems. He could not feel like this. He had to squash it; this uncontrollable sensation deep in his bones that needed her like his lungs needed air.

He watched her uneasily as Clary flitted around the kitchen, multitasking as she made them breakfast and called the doctor to set up an appointment for her son. Matthew wanted only a small bowl of applesauce and a cup of hot tea, but Clary made him some eggs and toast. She ate a slice of toast and an apple, drank some coffee, and readied Matthew for the doctor. Jace dropped them off at the family practice doctor's office off of Avenue J, accepting the kiss Clary placed on his lips with a tight smile.

"I'm going to meet some friends for lunch, but I'll see you later. 'Kay?" Jace called out the window. Clary turned and nodded, knowing that it wasn't a far walk to her apartment. Thankfully, she had off today, so she would be able to spend the day devoted to caring for Matthew.

"Okay. See you later." Clary waved.

"Bye, Jace." Matthew sniffled, and despite himself, Jace smiled and waved.

But as he drove away, Clary frowned to herself. Something wasn't right.

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When Jace arrived at the restaurant, he met with Sebastian and Alec out front.

He nodded at them. "What's up?" He pulled his sunglasses from his face and tucked them into the front pocket of his leather jacket. The other two acknowledged his greeting with their own. They entered the restaurant and sat down, perusing the menu, making small talk.

"So, where were you last night?" Alec asked, not lifting his eyes to Jace's.

"I stayed at Clary's apartment," Jace answered truthfully, if somewhat reproachfully. "Why?"

Alec just shook his head.

"So when are you gonna tap that and move on?" The light-haired boy asked.

Jace looked at his teammate and chuckled.

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**So there it is. The next chapter. I finally updated. **

**I don't know if any of you remember, but I usually ask two questions to be answered in the reviews, and if you answer them in a review, you get a teaser. Here goes…**

**Ever heard of Celtic Thunder? If not, go look them up before you review this and tell me your opinion… Seriously, it's worth your time. Their music is the reason you have this chapter since I've been brain dead for a year and their music inspired me. **

**I need some recommendations on YA novels to read. Hit me up? That'd be great, thanks. **

**Peace and Love**

**SpeakNow1118**


	8. Chapter 8

Jace just chuckled. He folded his hands on the table and looked at Sebastian. "How about," Jace paused and gave a fake grin, "You mind your own business, and stop being a dick?" He leaned back into his chair and took a swig of his iced tea. Raising one eyebrow, he challenged Sebastian to say anything else.

Alec tensed, recognizing that, while Jace's temper was cool now, this had the potential to grow very nasty very quickly. That registering, he quickly interjected, "Seb, leave it alone. It's none of your business."

"Nah, don't be ridiculous." Sebastian leaned back, mocking Jace's posture. "Jace never has had a problem triumphing in his conquests before," he paused, wanting to rile Jace up. He lived for it. "Why should he start now?"

Jace leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed his thumb over his nose. It was meant to calm him, control his anger, but instead, the small action fueled it. "Let me explain something to you." Jace took a deep breath and continued. "First of all, it's my life. Get your own. Second, you don't talk about her. Ever. Someone like her would never drop low enough to _talk_ to someone like you, let alone get with. Third, Back the hell up and learn some manners before _I_ teach them to you."

Sebastian huffed. "Please. I could kill your ass if I wanted to."

Jace stood and leaned over the table, bracing himself on his hands. Alec grabbed at his arm, trying to get him back in the chair before he caused a scene, but Jace spoke quietly, full of menace and barely restrained anger. "I think we both know that your nose is crooked and your back is scarred for a reason." Jace's voice dropped to a whisper, "Just remember how it ended up like that." He reached out and playfully tapped Sebastian's cheek and winked. Jace stood, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and left.

Jace was beyond pissed. He yanked the door of the Aston Martin open and got in, slamming it closed after him. Pounding the steering wheel twice for emphasis, he grunted in his fury. What was going on with him? Why was he acting like this? Sebastian was right, as much as it killed him to admit it. He was with Clary for the simple pleasure one or two nights would bring. He didn't want a relationship. He didn't want to be a dad. He didn't want to be a husband, or even a boyfriend. He didn't want the responsibility of a family… did he?

No. He didn't. To love is to destroy; his father had proved that more times that he cared to admit. His entire life, his father had confirmed the fact that Jace was burden, never wanted, an accident. When Jace's mother died, Valentine had checked out. His six year old son was left basically alone, but Valentine had managed to teach him all of life's lessons. The hard way. Jace's back and shoulders were scarred from the results of those lessons. He hit the steering wheel one more time for good measure, and then leaned his forehead against the top of the leather covered rim.

Valentine's money had not bought Jace happiness. It hadn't bought him friends, it had bought him followers. Girls. Not one single thing of substance. Valentine's genes had earned him spots on the varsity rosters of three different sports; four years of letters had followed them. Parties, alcohol, clothes, cars, fancy phones and computers, it all meant nothing. He was miserable in this life. Oh, don't be misguided, he loved his life. He loved having women fawn over him. He loved the feelings stirred in him by the alcohol. He loved the parties, but what was the point? He was weary, and he wanted more.

And somehow, he felt that Clary was the key to that. Of all of the women he'd dated, all the women he'd slept with, Clary, though he'd know her for only three weeks, was different. And anyone that looked at him could tell. Hell, if Sebastian had picked up on it, Alec probably thought they were getting married.

Truthfully, he didn't even want to be a doctor. He was chasing this dream for the money and power. His family name would get him places, certainly, but a doctor's salary would get him farther.

_But do you actually want to go farther?_

Damn that inner monologue.

Jace slipped his key into the ignition, wrenched it over, and pealed out of the parking lot, looking with satisfaction in his rearview mirror as Alec stood from the curb of the restaurant watching him. Purposefully trying to run his tank of gas out so he could charge an enormous bill to his father's credit card (that Valentine wouldn't even notice), Jace meant to drive aimlessly, but that didn't really pan out. He wound up outside of the doctor's office that he had dropped Clary off at not even an hour ago.

Fate, it seemed, had a different plan for his life.

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"Matthew Fray?" The haggard looking nurse called out from the doorway of the packed clinic.

"Finally," Clary said under her breath as she gathered Matthew from her lap and into her arms. His head leaned on her shoulder still, his eyes lethargic and dull.

Clary followed the nurse back through the hallway to the scale. The nurse, Ashleigh, took his vitals. Thirty-seven pounds, three feet, ten inches. Heart rate was seventy three beats per minute; blood pressure was 108 over 69.

"Oh, buddy. Looks like you have a pretty bad fever. It's 102 degrees! Do you know what your temperature is supposed to be normally?"

Clary felt bad for her impatience earlier. Nurse Ashleigh was wonderful with kids, and she was clearly overworked. She smiled as Matthew answered correctly.

"Very good!" Ashleigh praised Matthew. "You," she said, pausing to reach up into the cabinet doors above the sink, "get a sticker!" Matthew smiled tiredly and picked out a Captain America sticker.

"Oh, I like Captain America too." She lifted the small boy onto the cot in one of the rooms. "Now, can you tell me what doesn't feel good?" Ashleigh pulled out a laptop and proceeded to open it and type a few of Matthew's vitals into it, quickly followed by a long list of symptoms.

"My head hurts and I'm frowin' up, and I have a feber, and a stuffy node." He stopped talking long enough to sneeze. "And I keep sneezing." He looked up at Clary with puppy dog eyes and her heart broke.

"His symptoms started two days ago. He doesn't usually get sick, so I was pretty sure I needed to get him a check up." Clary opened her arms and uncrossed her legs as Matthew slid down off of the wax-paper covered table and crawled into her lap. Wrapping her arms around him, she tucked his head underneath her chin and soothingly rubbed his back.

Ashleigh smiled sympathetically and said, "The doctor will be right in. It looks like he might have the flu though. I'm sorry."

Clary smiled gratefully. "It's not your fault. Thank you very much though."

"Sure," Ashleigh said quietly as she pulled the door shut behind her.

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In the end, Matthew ended up being diagnosed with a mild case of the flu. Clary was given a prescription for seven days of antibiotics and instructions to return in two weeks if Matthew wasn't feeling any better.

"Come on, Baby. Let's go home and we can lie down and watch some cartoons. We'll get some popsicles too, okay? How does that sound?" Matthew nodded miserably and gagged. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's applesauce, and he was scarily pale and drawn out. Clary needed to get something in his system other than tea and water.

When they reached the front door, she pushed it open and swung Matthew into her arms, fully expecting to have to take a cab, but she stopped, startled. There, in the perfect parking space, was Jace, wearing his leather jacket, black jeans, and aviator sunglasses. His blonde hair glinted in the sun as he leaned against the hood of his shiny Aston Martin.

"What are you doing here?" Clary asked, taking three small steps forward. Oh, she was so glad to see him.

"I'm picking you up. I figured you might need a ride." Jace's crooked smile sent her heartbeat off in a funny direction. "How's he doing? What's the prognosis?"

Clary sighed and smoothed Matthew's hair back away from his head and frowned at the thumb in his mouth. "He has a mild case of the flu. I have a prescription for him and some other instructions."

"Well, let's get him home then. Come on." Jace opened the passenger door for her and jerked his head toward the car. Clary smiled gratefully and slid Matthew into the back seat, buckled him in, and the followed suit with herself. Jace drove carefully, taking pains not to drive erratically or jerkily in an effort to keep Matthew comfortable in the backseat. They arrived at Clary's apartment in the nick of time; for no sooner had they climbed the stairs and entered the room did Matthew race for the bathroom, where sounds of gagging and retching could be heard.

"Uh, wait here," Clary said quickly before rushing after Matthew. She rubbed his back again, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and stroked his cheek. Clary reached up onto the sink and pulled down the mouth wash, helping Mattie to rinse his mouth out, and then rocked him back and forth while he cried.

"I hate being sick, Mama. It makes my chest hurt and my eyes water and I don't like it." He sobbed into her shoulder, but she couldn't say anything, lest the tears welling in her eyes would pour over. When Matthew was spent, she lifted him moved out into the apartment again. She mouthed for Jace, sitting on the couch, to be patient, as she would only be another minute or so. As she toted Matthew into his bedroom, removed his socks, shoes, and jeans, he whispered for her to come closer. When she leaned down, Clary couldn't help but smile at what her son said.

"Mommy, please don't let Jace stay here. If he sees me when I'm sick, he might think my performance will be bad. I just can't have that." Clary smiled again, trying to stop the laughter bubbling behind her lips.

"Don't worry, Baby. Jace won't think that. I promise. Now, I'm going to bring in a cup of tea and a little bowl of soup, and I want you to drink them both, alright? They'll make you feel much better, I promise."

Matthew nodded tiredly and closed his eyes. By the time Clary got back with the food, he was asleep, and she simply didn't have the heart to wake him. The food could wait.

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"It's official; I have nothing else to eat." Clary flopped down on the couch next to Jace, who was engaged in the television. He wrapped an arm around her and sat back on the couch, pulling her with him.

"What do you mean you have no other food? How can you have no food?" Jace asked incredulously.

"Well, I've been working a few extra shifts and now I have this whole baseball thing to deal with," Clary shot him a meaningful look, "And grocery shopping just fell by the wayside."

"Well, that makes no sense. Give me your shopping list. I'll go get the stuff you need." Jace offered, thinking he was being gallant. She shot him down flat.

"No. That's okay. But thanks for, you know, offering." Clary nodded at him in the way moms nod their heads when their children offer to do something outrageous.

"What?" Jace was clueless. "Why is that so crazy?"

Clary pushed her bangs back from her eyes and giggled. "You, Jace Wayland, basketball superstar, hot guy extraordinaire, want to do my shopping for me?" She broke out in outright laughter. "I'm sorry, it's just too funny to picture!" She sat up away from him, still laughing. "Let's try though: You, walking the aisles of the supermarket with a book of coupons, pushing a cart…" Clary trailed off and collapsed back against the couch in spasms of giggles.

"Oh, yeah?" Jace leered playfully, rolling over on top of her, pulling her arms up above her head. "I happen to be _very _good at shopping, thank you very much." He leaned in for a kiss, but Clary turned her head.

"You didn't, like, have people that did that for you? That still do?"

"Pff." Jace made a noise of disbelief. "Of course I do. And, I will have you know that Agatha is, was, and will always be a phenomenal housekeeper." He stopped kissing her for just a moment to smile dreamily. "That woman could cook." Jace sat up and pulled Clary into his lap. "Why don't we just go shopping together? I need to get some stuff anyway." He put his lips to her neck and nuzzled for a moment.

"Mm, I would love to, but I think you're forgetting something _very_ important." Clary craned her neck, allowing Jace better access. "Matthew. The very sick five-year-old who is lying asleep in his bedroom."

"Alright, then take my car. I'll wait here with him until you get back."

"Problem," Clary quipped. "I can't drive."

"Are you serious?" Jace was in disbelief.

"I live in New York!" Clary's voice rose with her shoulders. "Why would I need to be able to drive? There are subways. And when there are no subways, there's a cab." Clary shrugged again. "Next solution?"

"Easy. Izzy."

"What?" Clary pulled back for a moment to catch Jace's eyes. "Who or what is Izzy?"

"Isabelle Lightwood. She's Alec's sister. She owes me one. She could babysit for an hour or two until we get back." Jace smiled triumphantly at her.

"Mmnmm. I'm not comfortable with that. I didn't like leaving Matthew alone with you for a night, and I knew you then." Clary put a hand on his cheek and kissed him softly. "Thanks for the offer, but it can wait."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Just let me call her. You need food, I need food. Isabelle needs to clear her debt; it's a win-win-win. Mattie will love her, you'll tolerate her. Besides," Jace added earnestly, "She's actually pretty good with kids. They like her," Jace rolled his head back and forth, looking for the right words to describe Isabelle, "Shall we say, dramatic personality." He leaned in for a small kiss again, and looked her straight in the eye. "Trust me. She's a good person. I promise."

Clary, from her place in Jace's lap, weighed her options. She could starve until tomorrow, the absolute earliest she could convince Mrs. Fairchild to babysit, or she could accept Jace's offer. Reluctantly, she gave in. "Alright," she said, waving her hands in the air. "Call her." Jace gave her exultant grin and pulled his phone from his pocket. Clary sighed and leaned into his chest again, lifting her hand to play with a loose thread on Jace's breast pocket.

A cocky grin was playing about Jace's lips. "Hey, Iz. You know how you owe me?"

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Two hours later, when Clary's stomach was grumbling loud and long, Isabelle showed up. Clary and Jace had spent the time wrapped up in each other, alternating between watching TV and kissing.

Jace jumped up to answer the door, let Izzy in, and introduced her to Clary. "Iz, you have my cell. Call if there are any problems." Jace grabbed Clary's jacket, helped her get it on, and started pulling her towards the door.

"Wait, stop, Jace. Stop. Isabelle, he's asleep right now, but if he wakes up, there's tea and a bowl of soup in the fridge. Just heat them up and-"

"She's got it, Babe. Let's go. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back." Jace kept tugging at her arm, and between Isabelle's insistence and Jace's persistence, she gave in.

Stepping into the car, Clary glanced back up at the apartment, and Jace, getting in the driver's side, noticed and stopped his movement. He folded his arms on top of the car and softly said her name. When she looked over, he smiled at her. "Babe, it's fine. I promise. Izzy will take good care of him."

Clary nodded, still uncertain, but slid into the car. Jace smiled. That was the easiest battle he had ever won.

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"Alright, the pharmacy is over there, will you get the prescription a while and I start stocking up?" Clary pointed him in the right direction after she grabbed a cart from the dwindling row.

Jace snatched the paper from her hand with a, "Your wish is my command." Clary rolled her eyes and swatted at his behind.

"Oh, violation of my personal bubble, Fray." Jace warned. He leaned in close to her ear. "Though, it may have been the sexiest way I've ever been violated." He trailed off and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I'll be right back." Clary followed him as far as the aisle she needed and then broke away from him. However, before she was quite out of earshot, she heard Jace ask the pharmacist to fill the prescription for "his girlfriend's son," and her cheeks warmed. She smiled and continued down the aisle, picking up the first aid staples that Matthew went through like water.

Jace came up behind her after only a few minutes. Tossing the white paper bad with Mattie's prescription in the cart, he took her hand and starting picking up some of the food items he needed for his dorm and tossed them into the cart along with her items. Clary peeked at him from the corners of her eyes and caught Jace doing the same. He smiled at her and reaffirmed his grip on her hand, lifting it to his mouth to kiss her palm.

Well, he certainly was acting like her boyfriend, that was for sure. In the checkout line, Jace fell in step behind her, his strong arms on either side of her body and kissed her neck softly. Shivers when down her spine when he did that, and he knew it. Clary could feel his smile against her skin. She felt a little bit better about her uncertainty this morning. Everyone has off days, but Clary couldn't shake the feeling that earlier was maybe a little bit more than that.

Tossing their items onto the lane at the same time, Clary was a little puzzled. What was he doing? Too late, she realized. Jace pulled his wallet from his back pocket and swiped his platinum American Express before she could stop him.

"What are you doing?" Clary asked indignantly, not bothering to restrain her anger as she crossed her skinny arms over her chest.

Jace looked at her like she was an idiot. "I'm paying." He cocked his head at her, "You didn't think I was letting you pay for your own groceries, did you?" He looked back down to sign the receipt, biting his cheek to keep from laughing. She was going to kill him as soon as they got back to her apartment.

Clary was steamed. She huffed and marched to the Aston Martin, not speaking at all, not taking his hand when he reached out for his. When they reached her apartment, she grabbed all the groceries she could carry, not wanting to be anymore obliged to him. Kicking the door open, she startled Matthew and Isabelle, sitting at the counter playing tic tac toe.

Matthew got up and came over to take a bag, gallantly lifting it above his head in an effort to show off for his newfound friend in the dark-haired beauty.

"Isabelle, thank you so much for staying with him." Clary fawned gratefully, but Isabelle just put a hand up.

"No problem. I have a date tonight, so… see ya." Isabelle grabbed her coat and exited the apartment in a hurry, throwing a sideline glance at Jace on her way out.

Leaving Jace alone with Clary.

Not good.

He mentally prepared himself for whatever Clary was about to throw at him. He took a deep breath and put the rest of the groceries down on the counter before turning to face Clary.

"Before you say anything, don't. I just wanted to do something for you. You worry too much. It was the least I could do." He moved towards her and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "Please don't be mad." He kissed her again, and again, and he knew he had won when her body relaxed.

"Just… don't do it again, okay? I can support myself and my son. I don't need help." Her arms snaked around his waist and she leaned her cheek against Jace's chest. She was so stubborn. But he could deal with that. Jace slipped one finger under her chin and tilted her chin up towards his lips.

"Ew. Don't do that to my mommy. That's gross." Matthew interrupted.

Jace chuckled once as he felt Clary's face, currently burrowing into his chest, grow warm. He detached himself from Clary and mischievously stalked toward Matthew, whose eyes grew very, very wide as he slowly backed away.

"Jace, I know what you're thinking, and you definitely shoul-" Matthew's voice cut off in a shriek as Jace lifted him and tossed the small boy over his shoulders.

Clary just chuckled and started making dinner.

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The next morning, Jace rose and pulled his shirt on before Matthew was awake. Before Clary was awake, even. They'd spent the night cuddling on the floor, wrapped in blankets, sharing a bottle of wine, talking about everything and nothing. Touching and tasting and teasing and kissing. It was perfect, far better than actual sex would have been. He still didn't know what was so different about this girl. Was it her honesty? Her love? Her protectiveness? Her selflessness?

He couldn't put a finger on it. But he had something to do now.

It was eight in the morning. Certainly, she would be awake by now. Who was he kidding? He would wake her up if necessary. He lifted Clary onto the couch, tucked the blanket around her, and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment, and then crept from the apartment and down the stairs.

He stopped at the appropriate door and knocked. After a few moments, a leathery old woman came to the door and looked at him suspiciously. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"My name is Jace Wayland. I'm Clarissa Fray's boyfriend. I want you to do something for me." He leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking her in. "I want you to give her a bigger apartment. At least two bedrooms. It's not right that she has to sleep on the couch and her son gets shoved in a tiny room."

Dorothea humhfed. "She can't afford it. And that's not my problem. Goodbye." She sneered at Jace and attempted to close the door, but he stopped her.

"How about this?" He asked, pulling a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. It was a check for $10,000. He could practically see the old woman begin to salivate. "That should cover a larger apartment for her. Give her a bigger one for the same price she's paying now. I'll cover whatever's left over." She nodded, and he smiled. "Glad we understand each other."

Jace peeled himself off of the doorway and turned to walk away. "You can inform her of the move today. I expect that I will get a call from her later on to help her move, you understand?" He called over his shoulder, and then paused. "Oh, one last thing," he turned around to face the old woman one more time and shook his finger at her in a not quite threatening way, "Don't tell Clary that I set this up. This has to seem strictly as though this is your idea. Understand?" The old woman nodded once more and disappeared back into her rooms.

_That was easier than I thought, _Jace said to himself. He smiled. He hoped that he would enjoy that new bedroom as much as Clary did.

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**Alright, there's chapter 8. Hope you enjoyed it. **

**Story Rec:** **A Little Bit Of This, A Little Bit Of That****»**** by ****Orlissa92****. It's a Vampire Academy drabble fic with LOTS of chapters. And it's wonderful. : )**


	9. Chapter 9

Yeah, I think you can pretty much give up on City of Resentful Angels. Sorry… :(

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Boyfriend. The word felt foreign and strange on the tip of Jace's tongue. But undeniably, and on more than one occasion, he had referred to himself and Clary as being in a relationship. Multiple people had heard him – the old bag of a landlady, the pharmacist at the supermarket, and now Isabelle. The number was rapidly growing, he thought with amusement.

The more he thought about it, the less apprehensive he was becoming. He kind of like it, in fact, the thought that was always in the back of his mind now, the image of Clary and Jace walking Broadway (or any street that would aptly cater to the cheesy fantasy in his head), hand in hand, while Matthew sat on his shoulders or tugged on Clary's fingers while he begged to see something in one of the windows of the shops, the glass fogging under his breath while Jace studied Clary's smile in the reflection.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile as Jace smiled. He quietly let himself back in Clary's apartment, closing the door silently behind him. Turning around, he saw that Clary was still soundly asleep on the couch, and though he ached to, Jace knew that he didn't have to time to go back and snuggle with her. He had his last final today. Never had he been so thankful for the month of May. Though Jace for the most part loved learning and school (it was easy for him, what wasn't to like?), his classes had taken up his Clary time. He'd been forced to squeeze her in over the last few weeks. Then with a start, he realized that he had known Clary for a little under two months. His court hearing had been March 31st, just after March Madness, The Little League practices had begun in the second week of April, and that's when he met Matthew, and by extension, Clary.

And now they were together. Well, he assumed. He had never actually asked her if they were an item, but something told him that she wouldn't turn him down. No girl ever had. Still, it was probably pretty important.

Jace glanced over at the clock again and winced at the time. He would have to hurry to school if he didn't want the professor to turn him away. Hastily, he scrawled a note using the paper from the phone desk. Grabbing a piece of Scotch tape from the dispenser, he attached it to her forehead. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, she certainly wouldn't miss it now. He traced the apple of her cheek with his long fingers and disappeared from the apartment.

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When Clary woke up, she smiled; she could feel the entity behind her, soft and warm, yet firm. She rolled over, smiled, opened her eyes and came face to face with the couch. Her clip curled as she deflated, severely disappointed by the lack of Jace. Altogether too slowly, she became aware of something attached to her face.

Dear Clary:

Sorry to disappear again. I have to go take my final final. After that, I'm all yours. Call me.

Jace

Jace's rushed letters were blocky and long, full of contradictions, just like him. Clary thought of that stupid commercial on the television for a candy that was both chewy and solid. Ridiculous. She felt a twinge of guilt building in her heart; Clary hoped Jace had studied before the finals. She didn't know what that was like, never completing freshman year of high school and all that, but in all the movies and television shows, studying for finals was a fairly big deal.

Stretching up and away from the couch brought a groan to her lips. Rubbing her palms over her still-heavy eyes, she stood, urging herself to get up and make coffee. Idly as she measured the grounds, she wondered how Matthew would feel today. It was nine o'clock and he wasn't awake yet, and she didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. Usually, her son up at seven sharp, and she thanked whoever was listening that he had decided to stay in bed and get some rest when his body needed it.

While the coffee was percolating, she stripped herself of yesterday's clothes and stepped into the shower for a few moments, the warm water and grapefruit body wash coaxing her sluggish body awake. Stepping out, she toweled off and peered at her naked body in the mirror. Sort of scrawny, the stretch marks from her pregnancy nearly gone, flat stomach, skinny legs. Green eyes, red hair, freckles covering her face and shoulders. She shook her head at her vanity and stepped into the clothes she had set out.

When Clary cracked the door opened, steam escaping everywhere, the smell of fresh coffee slipped into the bathroom and tickled her taste buds. She inhaled deeply, eyes drifting closed in pleasure.

First thing was first though; she had to check on Matthew. Cracking his door open, Clary peeked in and saw that was at least still breathing. Moving into the room more completely, she took his temperature using the back of her wrist. He was still hot. Clary smoothed his ruffled hair down, smiling at her sleeping son. He did not rouse though, and she let him continue in his dreams.

Of course, after settling down at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, there was a knock at the door. She called out for the guest to be patient; she was coming, and stood, her still damp hair swaying as she walked to the door. Immediately after opening it, Clary found herself pushed off to the side as Madame Dorothea entered her apartment, quickly making herself comfortable at Clary's table. When Dorothea caught Clary looking at her, she barked orders to put a kettle on for tea.

"Here, I have some coffee already made," Clary managed to get out past her shock and quickly moved to get the older woman a cup.

"If I wanted coffee, I would have instructed you to make coffee. I want tea. Get to it." The woman waved her hand dismissively as Clary bit her tongue to keep from snapping. Rolling her eyes, Clary pulled the tea kettle out of the bottom cupboard and filled it with water from the tap.

"Sit down as the water boils; I need to speak with you, Clarissa." Aside from her mother, Dorothea was the only one who called her "Clarissa." Clary sat at the chair opposite of the landlady, suddenly very conscious of the squeaking wood as her featherweight settled into it.

"I have been noticing that boy of yours growing recently," started Dorothea.

_Oh, great. She's going to kick us out because Mattie's growing. Great. That's gonna be interesting to explain. We got kicked out of our last apartment because my son started growing._

"And it's clear to me that you need more space." The thick Brooklyn accent in the woman's gravelly did little to comfort Clary. "Seeing as such, I'm going to do you a favor. You can move to a different apartment."

Clary, flabbergasted, replied, "But I can't really afford that… Remember? We discussed me taking the bigger apartment, but you, I mean I," Clary hastily changed what she was about to say when she caught Madame Dorothea raising her eyebrows, "didn't have the cash for it. Nothing's really changed. So thank you, but I'm sorry, I can't."

Dorothea shook her head impatiently as the tea kettle began to sing, a shrill whistle that Clary was unaccustomed to in her apartment. Neither Clary nor Matthew drank tea very much. "You're not understanding me. I'm giving you that apartment for the same rate. It's not right for the boy to be cooped up in three rooms all the time. Heaven only knows what would become of him after he really starts to grow." Her arms were above her head in frustration. "Get that tea kettle," she snapped, "It's giving me a head ache."

Clary jumped up at once and poured the boiling water into a chipped, dark blue mug, adding an herbal tea with a strong, heady flavor to it. Ordinarily, Clary would have asked for a preference from the old woman, but she knew that Dorothea liked this, since a box of it had magically appeared on her doorstep with a note attached that said, "Your coffee is stinking up the place. Try this instead." She had indeed tried it, gagged on the first taste, and dumped the rest down the drain.

"Thank you so much, ma'am. Really, thank you so much. I appreciate it so much. I'll move in as soon as Matthew is feeling better." Clary practically tripped over herself as she thanked her landlady. She offered sugar, but the woman waved it away in disdain.

"Your lease will cover this apartment as well. When you get a real job we'll talk about changing the rent. Don't make me regret it." She stood and took the cup with her, but Clary couldn't bring herself to care. The only unoccupied apartment in the building had six rooms, and was an entire floor. The apartment, much like many of the others in Brooklyn, was at one time a single family residence. Clary had taken up residence in three rooms on the second floor; her neighbors were Armenian immigrants. On the first floor lived Madame Dorothea and an older couple that sent Clary baked goods to give to Matthew. The third floor, however, was a single apartment with two bedrooms, a full kitchen with a dinette, a bathroom, a living room and a study.

In the back of her mind, alarm bells were going off. It was not like Dorothea, a normally shrewd and heartless woman to offer something like this.

Clary chose not to question it though, and smiled again to herself, trying to refrain from shrieking in her utmost joy.

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"Oh, pick up the damn phone, Jace." Isabelle snapped into the receiver. Finally, after eight long rings, Jace's voice snarked a greeting in Isabelle's ear.

"Finally. What took you so long?"

"Careful, Isabelle. It was I who initiated this conversation and it is I who can end it." Jace's voice dripped vinegar.

"Oh, grow up. Now, who is this girl, and why am I babysitting her son on a perfectly viable evening that could be _much_ better spent partying?" Isabelle rapped out, her anger getting the best of her.

Jace froze on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Isabelle thought he may have hung up; pulling the phone away from her ear, she checked the screen to make sure that the call was still connected. It was. "I'm waiting." She demanded.

"Yeah. Matthew is one of the kids on the Little League team I got assigned to assistant coach for that freaking community service thing." Isabelle could practically hear him rubbing the back of his neck in an effort to evade her.

"Not good enough. That doesn't explain why I had to babysit him."

"I'm kind of seeing his mom. There, happy?" Jace barked.

"You're kidding?" Isabelle was dumbfounded, flabbergasted even. "How old is she? Is she, like, some kind of cougar? What the hell are you thinking? You're throwing your life away on a kid that isn't even yours?"

Isabelle prattled on, demanding answers from him in an accusatory tone, but Jace was too stuck on her last statement to pay attention to the rest of anything she said.

_Throwing his life away? _Was _she_ kidding? In the past few weeks, Jace, by the normal standards of society, was a model citizen. He was giving back to his community (albeit, it was court mandated), he hadn't gotten drunk after his first date with Clary, hadn't got in any fights, hadn't had any late nights roaming the streets of Manhattan, looking for a good club.

"Isabelle Lightwood, just shut up. You have no idea what you're talking about." Jace's forefinger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose tightly as Izzy sputtered on the other end of the line. He'd just finished a particularly difficult final and all he wanted was a very strong cup of coffee and to go see Clary and Matthew, but instead he was listening to his faux sister prattle. "She is not a waste of time, and as usual, you are just spewing the first random crap that comes to your mind. Goodbye." Isabelle's eyes bugged wide when she heard the disconnecting click.

Jace just hung up on her.

Nobody hung up on Isabelle Lightwood.

She dialed Jace's number again, but after one ring, it went straight to voicemail. Now she was pissed. Isabelle left a nice little message to alert him to that fact.

She sat back against the leather seat in her living room with a huff. Why couldn't Jace just see that this was _not _a good idea?

I mean, don't get her wrong. The kid was cute. Very sweet. In fact, if she ever had kids, she pretty much wanted them to act like Matthew. He kind of reminded her of Max, her younger brother that had been killed in a car accident.

"_Isabelle is a pretty name."_

_Isabelle looked up from her nails. _

"_What?" She snapped, but the kid didn't look up from his coloring. _

"_I said that Isabelle is a pretty name. I like it." _

"_Oh. Thank you. What's your name again?"_

"_Matthew James Fray. Age five." With that, he looked up and smiled proudly. _

_Isabelle smiled a little. "Well, Matthew James Fray, age five, what are you coloring?"_

_He smiled even bigger and lifted the paper to show her a surprisingly good (for his age) portrait of a baseball diamond._

With a snap, Isabelle came back to the present.

Well, whatever. If Jace wanted to ruin his life, he could.

Though, try as she might, she could not quite ignore the nagging voice deep in her mind that said maybe, just maybe, this would be a good thing. She hadn't gotten any late night calls to pick a drunken Jace up at a bar. He hadn't been in any fights.

Okay, maybe this wasn't the worst thing in the world.

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Jace sighed angrily as he looked back down at his phone. You would think that after ignoring three phone calls from her, Isabelle would take a hint. Without looking at the caller ID, he accepted the call and yelled into the receiver, "What?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before a timid, "Is something wrong?"

Damn. It was Clary.

"No, no, no. I'm sorry, I thought you were Isabelle. She's been dogging me since I turned my phone on." He closed his eyes and listened to the small sigh of relief through the phone. "What's up?"

"Well, I have exciting news." Clary's voice was sing-songy with enthusiasm.

"Oh yeah?" Jace smiled. He knew what was coming.

"Dorothea offered me a bigger apartment for the same rent. I'm moving! Well, as soon as Matthew feels better. And I have to get some new stuff. And – oh, wait. How was your final?"

Jace chuckled once. She was cute, going a million miles an hour, on one topic then the next.

"My final was fine, Babe. You want some help moving?"

"Just fine? How do you think you did? I've never taken one, so I have no comparison or point of reference. Come on," she fake whined, "Fill me in!"

Jace laughed at this. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. It was just a final."

"Well, you're no help." He could practically hear her pouting through the phone.

"So, about that offer to help you move…" He trailed off, trying to distract her.

She sighed again; Jace was determined not to let her get her way. "Yes, that would be appreciated. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jace, at this point, was just relieved that she wasn't badgering him about finals anymore. Thankfully, that was his last one, and Clary didn't know about the other ones. She would beat _that_ topic until dead and pulverized to dust. "What else do you need to get?"

"I'm not telling you. You'll just go out and buy it." Oh, she was a snarky one. But Clary was absolutely right. He would have.

"Very funny."

"It's true." She quipped.

"I know it's true." Jace made a face at his phone while he said it, not even feeling foolish about it. "You up for a visitor?"

"Ooh, yes please. Matthew's feeling much better now that he's had antibiotics in him for a while. He's throwing an absolute fit about missing baseball, so I think a distraction would be welcome."

"Alright. I stop at my apartment, so I'll be over after that. I'm here now, so maybe, like, half hour? Forty five?" Jace inserted his key, turned it and twisted the knob. He started when he saw Alec sitting behind the door, waiting for him with arms crossed and narrowed eyes.

"Jeez!" Jace raised his voice.

"What?" Clary sounded alarmed, frantic even.

"Nothing. My freaky roommate just scared the hell out of me. Like a freaking stalker." Jace directed the last quip at Alec, lifting his mouth away from the phone.

"Hang up the phone, Jace. We need to talk." Alec sounded pissed, grinding words out from his teeth.

Jace quirked an eyebrow up, but acquiesced. "Clary, I'll see you soon. Alec needs to speak with me, apparently."

"Okay. Call me when you leave."

"Yep. Bye."

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**So, chapter nine is up. What did you think?**

**Here is my story recommendation: ****Treasure**** by ****SaturnXK****. It's an Infernal Devices one shot, and it's about how Jem's parents died. : (**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

"Jace, what are you doing?" Alec's voice was sharp, unfeeling.

Jace's hand reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. "About the election? About my new workouts? About baseball?" Jace gave one harsh chuckle under his breath, "Can you be a little more specific?"

"The girl, Jace." Alec was even terser now. "Your flippant attitude grows tiring, Jace. You've been out all night, blowing off class, workouts, even. What are you doing?" His voice escalated in volume and passion.

"I'm dating someone, Alec." Jace's eyebrow quirked up and his arms folded across his chest. "I know that the thought of a relationship is repellent to you, seeing as how you've never had one." His voice was cruel; he was tired of this. No one took him seriously.

"Jace!" Alec yelled angrily, "You can't keep doing this. You _have_ to focus. You're risking your future over what, some easy lay?"

"It's not that simple!" Jace's voice rose in pitch in response to Alec's sudden outburst. "It's not like that. I'm actually interested in her, okay, her and her family. She's good for me."

"Her family? Are you kidding me right now?" Alec was still yelling.

"Yes, her family. She has a son."

"A son? Jace, for crying out loud, what are you doing? How old is she? What a waste of time. You know what she's after, don't you?" Alec scoffed, audibly voicing his scorn. "You're going to ruin your life. She is going to-"

"Lower your voice, Alexander." Jace's voice dropped; he was eerily calm now. "Clary is not a waste of time. She is not a gold digger. If you ever refer to her that way again, I will personally split your face open. Do not _ever _talk about Clary that way again."

With that, Jace left Alec in a stunned silence, grabbing his jacket off of the rack and walking out the door. By the time Alec recovered enough to sputter Jace's name and follow him, Jace was down the hallway and out of the building.

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Jace knocked on the door of Clary's apartment nearly forty-five minutes later. She opened the door, smiling at him, and some of the tension melted from his body. Not nearly enough though, for Clary immediately picked up on it.

"What's wrong?" She asked, opening the door wider and allowing him in.

"Nothing," he barked as he walked in and collapsed on the couch. She frowned and stepped toward him, neatly settling next to Jace, tucking her feet under her legs, propped her elbow on the back of the couch. Jace's hand reached up and tucked itself around her thigh, his thumb caressing soft circles on her leg. His head fell back and thumped on the fake wood.

He groaned and apologized. "Alec was getting on my nerves, and traffic sucked getting here, and,"

Clary cut him off with a kiss. Her soft hand traced the strong curve of his jaw as her lips moved gently over his. When she pulled back, Clary leaned forward and touched her forehead to his.

"Hi." She whispered.

He smiled and whispered back, "Hi."

"I'm sorry your day sucked."

"It's okay." He smiled again and leaned in for another kiss. Jace deepened it, pulling her across the cushion and into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her close. "I missed you."

Clary smiled and touched their foreheads again. "I missed you, too." He smiled again and pulled her in for another kiss, but she put both hands on his chest and held him back. He frowned.

"How was your final?" She smiled deviously.

He groaned and dropped his head back again. "Are you serious?" He grunted at her.

Clary turned in his lap so that she straddled his waist. "Yes! Come on, I never went to college." Her hands went to his hair, playfully tugging him up to face her. "I never even finished high school. I'm curious." She whined jokingly.

Jace's hands went to her hair and pulled her in for another kiss. "You're crazy." She pulled back and frowned at him, but Jace smiled and re-emphasized his point. "Crazy." He punctuated this with a kiss.

"No, I'm curious!"

"Fine, fine. Fine!" Jace relented. "What do you want to know?" He sighed. He knew that until gave in, she would badger and badger and badger him.

"Everything!" She crowed, victorious.

"It's just a test. A cumulative test that's really hard. It's generally designed by evil professors."

Clary rolled her eyes, but curled up on Jace's chest. "You're a jerk."

Jace leaned his head back against the couch and wrapped his arms around her small body. "Mmmm." He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, happy and content and warm in the tiny room in the tiny apartment in the arms of the tiny girl.

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A week passed since that morning of the final. A week of happy times with Clary, uninterrupted by college classes and basketball work outs.

It was, quite simply, a perfect week.

They passed the time by spending it together, moving Clary's limited furniture upstairs to the new apartment, shopping for new furnishings, eating and laughing and kissing.

Jace spent every night at Clary's since his argument with Alec. He dreaded going back for two reasons. One, he hated fighting with Alec. They were closer than brothers; they had grown up together. Though he usually thrived on even the idea of a fight, dissent with Alec made him uneasy and edgy. He hated it. The second reason being that he enjoyed Clary's company too much to leave. Though they had not yet made love, they spent the nights cuddling and snuggling.

However, one morning, upon waking up and stretching his stiff body, he realized something had to change. Clary was curled up against his side, but when he detangled himself from her, he could barely move. His whole body ached and pulsed with pain. Sleeping on the crappiest pull-out bed in the world was doing him no good. Clary yawned and stirred beside him, stretching her arms out for him. Gracefully, Jace fell back down to the mattress and pulled Clary on top of him. She smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed as she wrapped herself around him.

"Clary, we have to get you a real mattress."

"Mmmm. Whatever you say, Babe." Clary mumbled against his sternum. Jace smiled happily as he rubbed her back, gently motivating her to wake.

"Come on, Baby. Wake up. We're going shopping."

"Mmhmm. No more shopping. Coffee."

"Well, I'll make some if you get off of me, you goof."

Clary sleepily shook her head. "You're too comfortable. You're staying put." To prove her point, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his neck. Jace smiled again and dropped a few kisses on her forehead, sneaking his hands down over her back, across her hips, sliding over her legs and back up to her shoulders. She sighed in contentment.

"We _have _to get you a new bed. Or else I can't stay here anymore." Jace whispered against her hair, but it had the desired effect. She glared up at him before dropping her head back to his chest.

"Fine," She huffed unhappily. "We'll go to the thrift store." She yawned again, craning her head to see the clock. "What time is it, anyway?"

Jace read the blurry red numbers from across the room. "Seven thirty."

Clary groaned and rolled off of him. "It's too freaking early, Dude."

"Oh, it's never too early to wake up to my pretty face." Jace rolled over on top of her now, parting her legs and hitching her calves around his waist. He buried his face in her neck and nuzzled at the soft skin he found there, smiling proudly at the soft noises of pleasure she made.

Until the door to Matthew's room opened, anyway. Then they split apart so fast that cartoon clouds of dust could have flown up from the mattress.

"Mommy, what's going on?" Matthew sleepily rubbed at his eyes. "Good morning, Jace."

"Morning, bud." Jace said to the little boy. Then, on a side note to his mother: "This is why you need a mattress in a room of your own, if you catch my drift." He winked suggestively and gave her a boyish grin. Clary pinched his hip playfully and smiled at Mattie, opening her arms to her son, who ran happily into his mother's embrace.

"So, Matt." Jace started. "Little man, how would you like to spend some time with Isabelle today?" Jace knew what the answer would be, for ever since the night that Isabelle babysat; Matthew had not stopped talking about the beautiful, older girl.

Matthew nodded and stuck his hands in the pockets of his pajama shorts. "That'd be great. I have to pee now." And with that, he ran off toward the bathroom.

"And how do you know that Isabelle will be willing to babysit again, Big Guy?" Clary fell back against her pillow and traced the curve of Jace's bicep with her fingers. His eyes drifted closed before he plucked her hand from his arm and pulled her wrist to his lips, tracing the soft blue vein from her wrist to her elbow.

"Mmm, that's not fair." Clary muttered.

"What's not fair,_ Nena_?" Jace asked innocently, continuing his soft ministrations.

Clary's eyes flew open. "Mmmgh, that's definitely not fair."

Jace smiled devilishly. "If it's languages you want, sweetheart, you've got it. _Tesoro. __Dragă,_ _Kekasih. Cariad. Novia. Carinosa. _The sensual caress of the "s." _M__o ghrá__. _The guttural sound of the "g." The words did something to her. She could not stand it; moans fell from his lips.

Jace went on and on, citing many different languages, his tongue caressing the soft sounds and nuances of the foreign words in ways that made Clary's insides twist and burn in the most delicious way until she was gasping and writhing underneath Jace's body, which now covered hers as his lips tugged at her ear.

"Jace, Jace, stop. Jace. Mattie's coming back out. Jace." With some effort after the slight panic, she pushed Jace off of her body, who then rolled to the floor with a thump and a groan.

"Jace, why are you on the floor?" Matthew bent down, hands on his knees, and looked at Jace curiously.

Clary sat up, still shaky from the near discovery, pulled Matthew over to her. Jace was glaring up at her from the floor. "Jace is right, Baby. I think you're going to spend some time with Isabelle today, if Jace can get it set up."

Jace struggled into a sitting position, saying, "I'll call her right now." He stood and walked to the next room, and slipped his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans.

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"Ahh." Jace's contented groan slipped from his lips and carried to Clary's ears. "This is a terrible mattress."

"Well, it doesn't have to be great. It just has to be a mattress." Clary retorted, adding under her breath, "And preferably cheap."

"What was that?" Jace asked, righting himself after lying on the used mattress at the thrift store. It was full of stains, some identifiable, others not. He definitely needed a shower now.

"Nothing," Clary said, louder this time.

Jace rolled his eyes, having heard exactly what she said. A plan was hatching in his mind.

"Look, don't buy anything today. Just figure out what you want and come back later to get it. Don't get anything now."

Something was tugging in the back of Clary's mind, but she knew he was right. It would be better to shop around and make sure she liked something, rather than buy the first thing that came along so that Jace could not buy it for her behind her back.

Suddenly, Jace was behind her, his strong arms around her waist and his lips were at the top of her head. "Look, let's go to a department store and look at some real beds. Okay? We'll just go look, and you can figure out what you like and make a decision. Alright?" He was comforting her, soothingly rubbing her back and calming her down. She hated shopping, especially for something that she knew nothing about. Ask anything about pencils or paintbrushes, but mattresses? Forget it.

"You're right. Let's go somewhere else." Clary turned and kissed his chest before taking his hand firmly in hers and strode out of the store.

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Long story short, Jace bought a mattress. They went to a store that specializes in bedding, and Clary flopped and turned and twisted until she found one that she liked. Satisfied with the comfort level, Clary was certain that she would find one like that somewhere else, somewhere less expensive. Check book in hand, she walked out of the store, trying to tow Jace along.

"Here, take the keys. I need the restroom." Jace told her as he handed over the keys.

Clary looked at him strangely before adding, "Please, Jace. Don't buy it."

Jace looked affronted. "I promised you I wouldn't, so I won't. Trust me, Babe."

Of course, he was lying through his teeth.

"Well, it's okay, I'll just wait for you." Clary smiled mischievously.

_Damn. _

"Alright." He walked toward the restroom, looking over his shoulder until she was out of view. Except, Clary was standing by the cashier.

_Damn._

It was time to improvise. He maneuvered to a different sales desk, and proceeded to write a check totaling nine hundred dollars. Included in his purchase was a box spring, new satin sheets, five down pillows and a gorgeous handmade quilt. He felt very satisfied with himself.

Of course, Clary would probably neuter him when it was delivered tomorrow.

Oh well.

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Jace appeared at Clary's door at seven on the dot. Though they had been together for four and a half months, they had only been on two proper dates. Earlier that day, Jace instructed her to look gorgeous, because that night, Clary would be going on the date of her life. (It just happened to coincide with her birthday.) They started with dinner at a fancy restaurant, and now that she was twenty-one, Jace ordered a bottle of wine that was older than she was.

"Okay, now take a bite of this," Jace reached out his fork, currently topped with a bite of delectable pasta, which Clary delicately bit down on. "Now take a sip of this." He handed his wine glass to her, and then retracted it. "Don't take a huge sip." He smiled and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, "Baby steps."

Clary smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb before taking a sip from the proffered glass.

"Mmm," Clary said, eyes widening. "That's really good."

"Told you so." Jace smiled. "Come here."

"Jace, if I get any closer," Clary whispered, "I'll be in your lap."

"Since when is that a bad thing?" Jace whispered back.

They spent a while talking and eating, touching and kissing before Jace pulled back, though he kept a hand on Clary's cheek.

"Clary, can I ask you a question?" Jace asked hesitantly.

She nodded, taking another sip of wine. The sweet amber liquid made her feel warm and deliciously alive with every sip. Was she getting drunk? The wine danced over her tongue as it traced its path down her throat, the slight tingle bringing a slight blush to her cheeks.

"Mmm, that blush makes you even more beautiful." Jace murmured under his breath.

"What did you want to ask me?" Clary asked through a self conscious smile.

Jace paused, uneasy. He did not know how to ask this delicately. "Who is Mattie's dad?"

Clary froze, the last bite of her meal on the end of her fork, stuck half way between her plate and her mouth, leaned back away from him and looked away.

"I don't see why that makes a difference." Her voice was tight and flat, the blush gone from her cheeks. "His dad isn't in the picture, and that's all you need to know right now." Clary sat all the way back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Eyes narrowed, lips in a tight line, she was angry.

"I was just curious. You never mention him, Mattie doesn't talk about him, there's no visitation, and I was just-"

"'You just' nothing, Jace. It's not your business. Please don't bring it up again." Clary's voice wavered as she said this with finality.

Jace reached out with one hand to touch her cheek, an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, Clary. Really. I won't mention it again. I promise." Jace's face was stricken. He never meant to anger or upset her.

Clary looked down at her now empty plate, picking up a fork and chasing a stray bit of sauce around the designs. "Can we go?" She asked, looking up suddenly. Jace nodded, miserable since upsetting the woman he cared for. Especially on her birthday.

"Thank you." Clary said quietly.

"I'll just get the bill. One minute."

"Fine." Her one word cut him deeply.

Jace stood and located the waiter, asking for the check in a hushed tone. He slipped the waiter his credit card and returned to the table, only to find Clary slipping into the light jacket, deep blue in color, and standing up.

As soon as the waiter returned, Clary was out the door and in the car. Jace followed, still miserable. The moonlight mixed with the streetlight and shone down, casting them in a washed out glow. Clary's fiery hair was dulled to a pinkish red, her ivory skin cast lifeless in the pale light. Jace couldn't contain himself. He reached out and grabbed her into his arms.

"Clary," his voice was anguished, "Clary, please. Talk to me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Let's just go, Jace. Please?" Clary pleaded. "I'm cold and tired, and I think the wine is going to my head. I just want to go home," her voice was pitifully small, and his heart broke a little, "and go to sleep in your arms."

"Oh, Baby." Jace whispered as he tucked her head under his chin. "Let's go."

When they reached her apartment, Jace parked and killed the engine. Clary was curled up in the seat next to him, her feet on the seat, chin tucked over her knees, eyes gazing out the window. He got out and opened her door. Escorted her up the stairs, watched as she unlocked the doors with shaking hands. Stepped inside the door and removed her coat.

"Clary, I-"

"Ssh." That was all she said before she kissed him. "I'm sorry, Jace."

Jace pulled back and took her face in his hands. "Why are _you_ sorry? I stuck my nose places where it shouldn't be."

"No," Clary shook her head and whispered to him, looking up and directly into his eyes, "You were curious, and I freaked out on you." She kissed him again and led him inside. "Mattie's sleeping at a friend's house." She looked up meaningfully at Jace and took another step back.

"Clary…" Jace trailed off. "I want this. I want this more than anything, but," Jace started and stopped as Clary released his hands and stepped backwards, her high heels accentuating her legs perfectly, making them go on for miles under the strapless black dress she wore. Her hair was long and straight, flat ironed to perfection a few hours ago.

"I want this too. A lot." Clary stepped toward him again and smiled coquettishly. "You haven't stayed the night since you got me the new mattress." Her eyes were huge and luminous in the limited light. She leaned forward to whisper in Jace's ear, "It's a _really_ nice mattress. And those sheets you bought me?" She bit the bottom of Jace's ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "They're perfect. They slip and slide right over my body. Especially the bare parts." Her voice was low and seductive, her breath slipping over Jace's lips and between his teeth and stirred something inside of him, some primal urge that had never been there before when he bedded a woman.

Jace groaned, trying his best to hide the obvious signs of his attraction.

"Jace, I know you want this. I want it to. Don't let my stupid mistake take away from tonight." Clary pulled back and looked directly into his golden eyes. Those beautiful, golden eyes that looked at her with such desire and attention and affections, and… hints of something more. Love?

"Clary," Jace whispered, taking her in his arms.

"Jace, let this happen." Clary pressed against him again, and he groaned, lifting her up and hitching her legs around his waist. She moaned against his lips as he walked back to her bedroom, one arm around her back, the other hand firmly grasped her ass and held her tight against his chest. He moaned her name as he lowered her to the bed, unzipping the back of her dress and sliding it off her body. She hissed in pleasure as his hands traced down over her body, and reaching up, Clary wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her body.

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**Chapter 10 is finished! What did you think, now that Clace finally did it? : p **

**Below are the translations of the languages that Jace spoke in.**

**Oh, I'm thinking about getting a beta for this story. If you are interested, please PM me some examples of what you beta's and who you beta'd for. **

**Thank you!**

**Story Rec: Something by pinkaffinity I**

**It's a Makorra oneshot that is absolutely one of the best oneshots I have ever read. **

**Translations (In order of appearance):**

_**Italian: Sweetheart**_

_**Romanian: Dear**_

_**Indonesian: Love**_

_**Welsh: Love**_

_**Spanish: Sweetheart**_

_**Spanish: Sweetheart**_

_**Irish: My Love**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Well, it's been a while. **

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Clary lay on her stomach for a while before she moved. There was a pounding in her head, her legs felt like Jell-o, and there were two things missing: someone else in her bed and her clothes. Groaning and squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she flipped over onto her back, covering her eyes with her hand as she did so. Clutching the smooth, warm sheets to her chest, she ventured into a semi-upright position.

_Am I hungover? _Was the first thought that came to her mind. The second was: _Where is Jace? _

She'd only had two glasses of wine last night, plus three sips of Jace's. There was no way she could be hungover. As to the second question, she had no clue.

As she shifted again, trying to get comfortable and failing miserably, she heard a rustling sound that seemed to be coming from… her back? It itched too. It took only a moment for her to realize that she had a note taped to her bare back. Reaching behind her head, she tugged the sheet of notebook paper off and sighed. Still covering herself with the sheet, she slowly gained her bearings as she read the note that had a familiar handwriting scrawled over it.

_ Morning, Babe. You might be a little hungover. All depends on how well you can hold your liquor… Anyway. Certain other parts of your body might be a little sore as well (insert shamelessly sexy wink here) so I left you some Tylenol and a glass of water on the bedside table. I'll be back soon. I wanted to pick up some coffee and Danishes, since I doubt you'll want to get out of bed today. (Insert another shamelessly sexy wink here.) Hopefully I can get back before you wake up, but just in case, I taped this note to your back so you wouldn't miss it. See you soon. Jace. _

Clary smiled to herself as she glanced over the end-table, sighing in relief when she saw the small bottle of pain reliever and glass sitting there. Drawing her legs up to her chest and settling back down into the bed made her breath hitch a little in slight discomfort, but she reached for the pills and downed two.

Clary reclined back and closed her eyes, smiling dreamily as she remembered the events of last night. Jace had asked about Matthew's father, and she had nearly lost it. A frown quirked in her forehead as she remembered her reaction; it was not something she was proud of. Clary honestly could not bear the thought of Jace finding out; she would tell him eventually, but for right now, it was better that he didn't know the details. Thankfully, they had quickly moved past that little incident quickly enough. Clary felt terrible. She blamed her over the top reaction on the wine, but she was certainly happy that the wine had loosened her inhibitions at least a _little bit. _

Last night was incredible. She had never felt such… pleasure. Or a sense of rightness. A sense of… love, even? All she knew was that she never wanted Jace to go anywhere. She wanted him to be hers, only hers forever. She drifted to sleep again as she continued reliving _every_ glorious detail of the previous night.

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Something was tickling Clary's sides, ghosting over the soft skin of her legs and back. The satin sheets were wrapped up around her, keeping her body modestly covered, yet hinting at what lay beneath. However, underneath the covers… She shifted, still under the power of sleep, but the pressure would not leave. A small moan bubbled from her lips as she began to stir.

Jace's fingers dipped beneath the covers and traced her bare hip, sliding over the dip in her back, over the bumps of her spine, and slipped over her neck to her hair. His strong hands played in her hair, caressing and urging her to waken. Her name slipped from his lips just as his name was murmured from hers. They both smiled.

"Good morning." Clary whispered, turning her head to face Jace.

"Good morning." Jace whispered back, gently pushing a few stray strands of hair back from her face. She smiled again and closed her eyes at the comforting gesture.

"What time is it?" Clary asked, rolling to her stomach to bury her face in her arms, desperately wishing to go back to sleep and stay in this moment for ever.

"Mmm, I think it's 10:30."

Clary groaned into her arms and smiled again. It did not take long until Jace was pawing at shoulder, begging for her attention again. Groaning again and arching her back to stretch, reveling in the popping of her stiff joints, she turned to face him. He traced the soft curve of her jaw and smiled at her before reaching over her to the end table where, not long ago, was occupied by a glass of water and some Tylenol. Now, however, two large cups of still steaming coffee and a brown paper bag with grease stains sat in its place. Jace grabbed all three items with shocking dexterity. Rolling back to sit propped against the pillows, Jace started to hand one cup to Clary. Halfway through the motion, he started, realizing his mistake, and withdrew his hand. Clary looked at him with a questioning pout, but he immediately handed her the other cup.

"Sorry. That one's mine. It doesn't have any sugar in it." His charming half-smile made her insides squirm with desire.

"Oh," she said. "Good call." He just smirked at her as he reached into the bag and pulled out two pastries, one blueberry and one apple.

"Which would you like?" He asked, offering her first choice. "I'll eat whichever."

"Mmm," Clary deliberated. She didn't particularly care for blueberry, but Jace preferred apple. "Blueberry." She took it with a quick word of thanks before taking a big bite out of the edge, a small drop of blueberry filling catching on the corner of her mouth. Jace leaned in and took care of it with a slight flick of his tongue and Clary giggled.

Jace leaned back against the pillows again and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing Clary into his chest and laying his cheek against the crown of her head, inhaling the strawberry scent of her shampoo. "A little hungry, there?"

"Mmm," Clary muttered around a bite of food as she swallowed, "Starving."

Jace took a long swig of coffee before answering in a cocky tone, "I have that effect on women."

Clary snorted into her coffee as she answered, "I think it has more to do with the fact that I haven't eaten in," she rolled over to look at the clock, "about fourteen hours."

Jace looked at her. "That hurt. That cut deep." He nodded. "And I even got you coffee and breakfast."

"Which was delicious. Really." Clary smiled as she popped the last bite of the Danish into her mouth and swallowed her last sip of coffee.

"Damn, girl. Slow down. You'll get a side stitch." Jace smirked as he took the third bite of his breakfast.

Clary rolled her eyes, and then got very serious. "Well, you see," she started as she shifted on the bed, allowing the sheets to fall away from her body and rolling to straddle Jace's lap, "I kind have something else in mind, since Matthew slept over at a friend's house and Kyle's mom said that she would take Matt to the birthday party he and Kyle got invited to." Her voice dropped in pitch, suddenly transforming into a sexy timbre that was completely foreign; she didn't know what was coming over her. "We're home alone until at least five."

She leaned forward to kiss his bare chest, tracing the tip of her index finger over the tattoo on his well-defined pectoral. She was glad that Jace had had the foresight to remove his shirt again after returning from his coffee run. Jace exhaled as he set his half empty coffee cup to the side and let his head fall back against the wooden headboard as Clary continued her ministrations. His hands smoothed over the soft skin on her back and her breath hitched.

"I love this tattoo." She murmured against the warm skin of his shoulder.

"I love that you love it." Jace whispered as his hand covered Clary's on his chest.

"What does it mean?" Clary whispered, pulling back to look in his eyes. The tattoo read "Pulvis et Umbra Sumus" and was black letters, artfully scripted, yet not flowy, and it just seemed so… Jace. Elegant, yet not overly so. Cast in shadows and yet radiating light.

"It means 'We are dust and shadows'."

Clary looked in Jace's eyes again and leaned forward to kiss him, lingering on his lips and breathing in the wonderful scent that was Jace.

Her fingers trailed lower and grazed the one that started a few inches below his navel and trailed to his hip. It read, "To love is to destroy." But this time she did not say anything. It was a beautiful design, the artist in her could appreciate that much, but as a mother and a human she could not agree with the words. Jace flipped her over to her back, shrugging out his boxers and sliding over her body, leaving kisses and caresses that made her body burn all over again.

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Hours later, the smitten couple made their way out of bed so that they could catch a very late lunch. It was not without its challenges though. After they came down from the high they got off of each other, after all the post-sex cuddling and banter, when their stomachs protested too much, they finally rolled out of Clary's bed. Well, Jace did.

Clary got halfway, but stopped short and gasped. Jace's head snapped up, his boxers already on, jeans just above his knees.

"What's wrong, Clare?"

Clary shook her head, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Jace crept behind her, kneeling on the bed and dropped a few soft kisses on her still bare shoulder.

"Clary, what's wrong?" His hand crept around to her stomach, but she pushed his hand away and scooted in the opposite direction of his warm body.

"Nothing." Clary rolled her eyes and tried to stand again, managing this time to make it to two feet, but internally wincing and cursing. She felt Jace's eyes on her and she looked over her shoulder to face him. Sighing, she admitted, "I'm just… a little sore."

Jace's loud guffaw startled her, making her wince and curse – out loud this time. But instead of deterring Jace, as was her intention, it only made him laugh harder, collapsing back onto the bed, tattoos displayed in all their glory.

"And just what do you think you're laughing at?" Clary put her hands on her hips, summoning her best I-am-a-mother-and-you-are-a-naughty-child look, her voice icy and hard. Again, it did not have the desired effect, and Jace just laughed harder.

"I've never heard that one before." Jace sobered quickly. "Usually I'm gone before they wake up."

"Mmm." Clary affirmed, turning and grabbing the small throw blanket off of the bed to wrap herself in. She moved to the dresser and picked out her clothes for the day – underwear, bra, shorts, shirt, and light jacket. Slipping into them quickly, she turned to find Jace stand there, gazing down at her with a smoldering stare.

"It's not like that with you," Jace stated flatly. "It's not like that anymore."

Clary gave him a small, conciliatory smile and rested her head on his chest. "Let's go get some lunch."

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Jace was getting in too deep. He knew this. He knew this from the moment he took her out for sushi on their first day. Unconsciously, as they waited for their food to arrive at the build-it-yourself burger joint, his fingers drifted over the tattoo on his lower torso.

To love is to destroy.

His father made that perfectly clear.

Clary did not deserve this. She deserved a guy that was steady, who worked a nine-to-five job, came home and kissed her on the cheek, made love to her on the weekends, gave her more children and a home in the suburbs.

What did Jace do? He bought her a mattress, slept with her, tricked her, got her drunk. He got drunk a lot. He parties, he fights. He did not have a steady job; he hadn't even graduated college yet!

What was he waiting for?

He was scared. Plain and simple.

He was scared of falling in love with Clary. (Though truthfully, he was already there.) He was afraid of losing her. Of screwing her up. Of screwing everything up. Last night had proved that he was too blunt in his approach to her life in the past. What would he mess up next?

He hated feeling like this. He hated not knowing what to say or how to say it. But most of all, he hated the butterflies he got every time Clary looked at him. Whether she was angry or elated, happy or sad, sleepy or so buzzed on caffeine that she couldn't stop shaking, Jace's stomach flip-flopped and twisted in his gut.

He had not ever felt like this before. He never stayed the night with a woman, yet, when Clary invited him in, he slept over, and on a crappy pull out sofa mattress to boot. He glanced up at her over the top of his menu, his fingers still digging into his side, nearing pain, as though he hoped to strip himself of the mark and thus the symbols it represented and the images it bore. She seemed to feel his eyes on her, for she glanced up and smiled warmly over her own menu. Jace smiled back, albeit somewhat uncomfortably. If Clary noticed his discomfort, she did not remark on it, but went straight back to perusing her menu.

"What's good here?" She asked after a few moments. Jace started and grunted out an answer. Clary looked a little hurt, but Jace covered her small hand with his and smiled again at her.

Something was up. Something was different about this girl. She made him feel things he never experienced, things completely foreign – yet not unwelcome.

And that scared Jace. It scared him bad.

**I know that this is a short chapter (the next will be longer), and I know that I haven't updated in a while, and I know that I never replied to any of your reviews for the past two chapters – which means that none of you got your teasers for this chapter. So, to make up for this, I came up with a new idea.**

**From this point on, for every person that reviews a chapter or who reviewed chapter 10, I will write a drabble fic. If you submit a prompt from a verified pen name (no guests, sorry: I have no way of getting in contact with you.) I will write a chapter for you. It will be a Mortal Instruments fic, I'll do different pairings, etc, etc. This way, if I don't have a chance to reply to your review, you will at least get something out of my little fic. I will also continue to send teasers to those who leave reviews from a verified account. **

**Thanks for reading, and as always,**

**Peace and Love,**

**Speaknow1118**


	12. Chapter 12

**I don't own. Please make sure to read the author's note at the bottom. **

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Finally dressed and out the door – six hours later, albeit – Clary's stomach was growling loud and often.

"Wow, Clary. Could you be any louder? You're not supposed to distract a driver." Jace teased incessantly, but he reached over to grab her hand, playing with her fingers and tickling her palm.

Clary smiled devilishly. "Well, if you want a distraction…" she trailed off as, unbuckling the seatbelt, she leaned over and placed her lips on Jace's collarbone. Up the curve of his neck. Over his cheek. The corner of his mouth.

Jace moaned a little in the back of his mouth and pulled off of the street into a side alleyway and turned off the car. Clary's eyes widened; this was not quite what she expected. "Jace," she said, slightly alarmed.

"Hey, you wanted a distraction," he murmured as he reached for her face, cupping her cheeks and pulling her in for a long, sensuous kiss that made her absolutely melt in her seat. Jace reached across her body to lower her seat back, and she reclined as Jace crawled over top of her.

"Jace, don't do this." She warned. "I'm starving."

"Mmm. Me too." He muttered against her mouth. His tongue slipped from his mouth to delicately trace her lips before he planted one, two, three soft little kisses there. Clary made a little noise of contentment in the back of her throat. Jace's long fingers drifted over her neck; one finger traced her collarbone, down over her ribs, and across her stomach.

Which then growled, a loud and long angry sound that ripped through the small interior of Jace's Aston Martin.

She giggled when Jace's head hit the roof in surprise and laughed out loud when he cursed. "I guess that's why they say you shouldn't make out in sports cars." She whispered against his lips.

"Well, if you wouldn't have tried distracting me," Jace answered with a kiss as he maneuvered his way back to his seat.

"Hmmm. Worth it." Clary said under her breath.

"Speak for yourself, woman. I'm going to have a goose egg."

"Oh," Clary made a noise of mock sympathy, much as an adult would give a temperamental toddler. "Did your ego get knocked down a peg?"

Jace faked a chuckle as he pinched her hip, making her squeal, jump, and smack her head off the top of the car. Clary made a little noise in pain as she rubbed the top of her head, trying to sooth away the dull ache.

"I'm going to have a bruise, you jackass!" Clary complained.

"Oh," Jace said condescendingly, mocking the tone Clary carried just a moment ago. "Did your ego get knocked down a peg?"

She scoffed, but the second Jace took her hand and brushed kisses over her knuckles as he pulled out in to traffic, she forgave him. She blew deep sigh from the very bottom of her lungs.

Jace looked over, slightly concerned. "What's wrong, Babe?"

Clary gave him a wry side look. "You mean, aside from the major concussion my boyfriend just gave me?"

Jace snorted, but her words struck a chord. Boyfriend. It was the first time he heard her say that word. In his mind, it was built up to be a dirty word, something that only weak men became, men with no libido, no drive for passion or something more than flowers every Valentine's Day, a kiss on the forehead before bed, stagnant, stale lovemaking sessions on the weekend.

But he called Clary his girlfriend. So what was the difference? He was still pondering this as they pulled into the parking spot a few blocks from the restaurant and walked the rest of the way in silence; hands molded together, Clary's small hand on his bicep as she leaned into him to avoid the midday rush of the crowded New York streets. He still thought about it as they were seated in a small booth and received their menus.

What the hell was the difference? Why did it bother him when Clary said the word 'boyfriend?' That's what they were. They were in a relationship – something completely foreign to Jace. But calling Clary his girlfriend implied that he owned her; no one else dared touch her, look at her, feel her kiss, be privy to that look that she gave him and _only _him. He did not want that restraint for himself.

He needed to be able to leave at a moment's notice, to see another girl and take her right then and there. Jace was selfish. He wanted the freedom to do that, but one mental image of Clary stopped him cold – Clary, wrapped up in the sheets with another man. Moaning his name. Her eyes rolling back into her head because of his hands. Sweating and panting because of another man. Not Jace. And his blood ran hot. He glared at the menu, hands gripping the menu until his knuckles turned white.

Thankfully, he came back to the present before Clary could notice, and he relaxed his grip. He knew that he lacked the power to just leave Clary. Deep down, far beneath his heart, within the very recesses of his mind, Jace could sense that he belonged to Clary. But he would not admit it. Admitting it to himself meant that something new was taking over, causing a catalyst that would forever change his life.

And that could not happen. He could not allow something of that magnitude to come sweeping in and alter his persona, someone that was carefully walled up inside him and dammed up so no one could ever reach him. Could ever hurt him.

After all, to love is to destroy.

This same train of thought plagued Jace all day. He was absent minded during lunch with Clary, he border line ignored Matthew when he went with Clary to pick him up from his friend's house. He gave Clary a peck on the lips in the car instead of walking her to her door like he usually did. He definitely did not stay the night. Drawing his phone out of his pocket, Jace dialed a number he had not called since he met Clary.

"Sebastian." Jace's tone was gruff. He knew he should not be doing this. "Let's go out tonight."

…

…

…

"Hey, yo, Barkeep, hit me again!" Sebastian's voice grated on Jace's nerves, as always, but the irritation was subdued thanks to the alcohol. Jace'd had wine while out with Clary, but he hadn't had any liquor or beer in months.

How he had missed the burn of the alcohol, the immediate lowering of his inhibitions, the way that the women in the club looked at him with only one thing on their minds. In his pocket, he felt the cellphone buzz. He pulled it out, saw Clary's laughing face on the caller ID photo, ignored the call, and shut off the phone, sliding it back into his pocket as he called for another shot of Patrón. As he downed the alcohol, he felt a slight twinge of guilt. He thought of that picture. Clary was laughing at something that he'd said, trying to sound sexy, but it just came out stupid and she saw right through it. Her smile nearly split her face open, and she bent over laughing. She always saw right through his smart remarks, and this time, he had amused her so much that she snorted.

"_Did… did you just snort?" Jace asked incredulously, laughing a little bit himself._

"_I… didn't mean… to! Stop, no, don't… take my picture!" Clary's words were broken up in fits of laughing. She put her hands up to stop him from whipping out his phone to take a picture, but he easily overpowered her, and they fell to the floor together, Jace managing to snap the picture of her blushing face. When they realized the position they were in, they sobered, and their lips came together. They kissed and kissed, right there on the kitchen floor, Clary's curls spread out over the linoleum, Jace's hands on either side of her head._

Jace smiled wistfully, running his finger around the rim of the shot glass that the bartender had so thoughtfully refilled.

"What's her name?" The bartender was rather sparkly; his hair in spikes all over his head, eyeliner and glitter outlined his eyes. His nails were painted black with a silver and purple crackle overcoat. He pushed another drink toward Alec with a wink. Alec blushed and looked away.

Jace knocked back another shot, noticing out of the corner of his eye a mural painted on the far wall of a cityscape next to the water. He assumed it was of New York. It echoed within him, though, familiar somehow. He couldn't place it immediately though, and lost interest.

"What are you talking about?" Jace asked. Even though he was quite a few shots in, his voice was not yet slurred, his face not yet flushed. Over the years, Jace had learned how to hold his liquor.

"That look on your face." The bartender answered smartly, raising his voice over the pounding bass. "That look means one thing. Girl trouble. Another one?" He tacked on the end, holding the tequila bottle up.

Jace tossed the drink back and nodded, tapping the glass with his index finger, calling for one more. "The only girl trouble I'll have tonight is that fact that she'll want to keep me around until the morning." He jerked his head once at the bartender. "Give me a vodka. Neat. Strongest you got."

The bartender shook his head – in disapproval? – and got Jace his new drink. Jace jerked his head once more, this time in the direction of Alec, and said, "Don't let him get drunk. He's much sloppier than me," Jace took a second to sip at his vodka – the bartender seemed to know what Jace was trying to do, he poured three fingers of the clear liquid into a whiskey glass – "and he's the designated driver."

He smiled a very feline smile, slightly threatening, in Alec's direction. "Will do, pretty boy. Will do."

Barely, through the music pulsing through the air, Jace heard the bartender introduce himself as Magnus, Magnus Bane, to Alec.

The air in the club was stifling. The sound was so loud it hammered through his skull, so thick it was almost tangible. Jace nursed the vodka in his hand as he moved to the dance floor, the strobe lights that flickered from the ceiling cast an eerie sensation over him; he suddenly remembered the fairy tales his mother read to him, stories of fairies that drug men down to their dens and devoured them. The alcohol mixed into his blood as he danced, girls slinking around him as though they wanted to drag him off and have sex with him in the filthy club bathroom. He lifted his arms above his head, careful of his drink, and let the music move through him as a redheaded woman rubbed her hips against his and attached her lips to his neck, sliding her hands underneath his damp-with-sweat shirt to feel his taut abdominals.

Red hair… Clary.

He breathed in deep through his nose, the sickly sweet scent of sweat, sex, and drinks filled his nose. The alcohol had gone to his head by now; he'd completely lost track of what he'd drank. At least three shots of Bacardi, five of Patrón, and two of the vodkas. He was lost to the world.

The red head was telling Jace her name, but between the drinks and the pounding music, there was no way he could understand. But he definitely understood what she did next. She slid her hands down over the front of his jeans.

"Forget it." Jace muttered under his breath. He grabbed the girl by the back of the neck and drew her in for a hard and fast kiss. Her tongue poked through his lips as she ground her hips against his, and Jace started leading her out and away from the dance floor.

…

…

…

"Hi, Momma." Came a little voice from the archway into the kitchen.

"Hi, Baby," said Clary curiously. "What's up?" She asked.

A heavy sigh came from the small boy; he was clearly uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say. "Well, first of all," Matthew tilted his head to the side and widened his eyes. "Can I have some chocolate milk? I feel like that would help me be calm."

Clary snickered, raising her hands just in time to cover offending laugh before Matthew saw it. "Well, alright. Let's go." She stood from her place on the sofa, still that same beat-up old sofa that she'd bought used when she found out she was pregnant with her son.

"Ok, here's the deal." Matt broke down while sipping his milk from his seat at the table. "How come Jace is the first guy I've ever met?" In typical little boy fashion, Matthew over exaggerated the words he wanted to emphasize, which included hand gestures and facial expressions.

Clary, in turn, over emphasized her nod. "The _only_ guy?" She asked back.

"Well, I think you know what I mean." Mattie rolled his eyes and wiped away his milk mustache.

"Don't use your sleeve," Clary corrected automatically, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her son's ear. "I think it's high time that you," she paused and tapped Matthew's nose, getting close enough to give him an Eskimo kiss, "Little Man, get a haircut."

"Mom, you're changing the subject." Matthew's arms waved around in exasperation. "Why don't I know any other grownups? Partikly," Clary fought to hide her smile again at Matthew's mispronunciation, "boys."

"Well, Baby, you're the only man in my life."

"What 'bout Jace?" Matt's answers were quick, and Clary was starting to hate her son's intelligence. "He sleeps over. A _lot." _

Clary sighed and shook her head. Definitely starting to hate her son's intelligence.

"Jace is… special. He went through a very rigorous screening process." Clary said, a smile breaking out on her face no matter how hard she tried not to let it escape.

"What does that even _mean?" _Matthew asked, clearly irritated that his mother was dodging his questions.

Clary looked at the clock on the wall and sighed dramatically. "It means that Jace is special, and that it's time for you to brush your teeth and get to bed."

"Okay, but is Jace special like I'm special or special like Robbie who was in my class and kept eating the glue special?" His words all came out in one rapid breath, knowing that he was running out of time to have his questions answered.

"Jace is a different kind of special," Clary answered, starting to hate the word, "special." She was struggling to find the words to answer her intuitive son. "There is a different kind of special that is only for grownups. It's like," she scrabbled, searching for the right words, "it's like movies when a nice man comes and finds a nice lady and they become friends."

Matthew looked at her suspiciously. "That doesn't quite answer my question, but I guess it will do for now." With that little outburst over and done with, he hopped down from his chair and disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Clary laughed to herself and sat back down in the chair. Speaking of Jace…

He'd been weird all afternoon. After last night though, she could not figure out why. He'd been distant since they had got in the car to go to lunch the previous afternoon. Suddenly, the switch had flipped. He was an attentive, wonderful, caring boyfriend who bought her dinner, helped her move, even bought her a mattress, but literally overnight, he was different.

She couldn't help but wonder if it was because she finally slept with him. Clary knew exactly what kind of guy Jace had been – he was the kind of man that got arrested for public drunkenness and got assigned community service because he was a public figure. She had hoped that he changed. But apparently not. It was starting to look like she was wrong, maybe Jace wasn't special.

Or maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Jace was just sick. Everyone has an off day; after all, Jace was only human. He was entitled to have a crappy day every now and then. That was probably it. Clary felt much more at ease now.

"Momma, I'm ready to be tucked in and read to!" hollered Matthew from his bedroom. Clary smiled and maneuvered into a standing position. Mattie had to have a story before bed, no matter what. Clary had started it when he was a baby. At just two weeks old, he'd had a horrible ear infection. Clary, who had turned sixteen only two months previously, had no idea what she was doing. Living on her own in a pay by the hour motel, desperate, confused, and sleep deprived, Clary was at her wit's end. She was nearly ready to tear her hair out, return home to her own mother, and give Matthew up for adoption when she grabbed a book of Blake's poetry and started reading. With tears in her own eyes, her voice was shaky and raw, but it worked. Matthew had stopped crying. Clary had sobbed in relief as she rocked her infant son. Collapsing back against a filthy pillow that night with Matthew asleep on her chest was the only time in her life that Clary had ever doubted herself.

The next morning, Matthew had started crying again. Hesitantly, with a bit of fear in her heart, Clary had opened the book of poems to where she had left off and continued reading. And just like the previous night, Matthew stopped his crying. From the moment on, Clary knew she would e alright. She would figure things out, just like she always had. That same day, she sold her painting "Brooklyn by the Water at Night," to a gallery owner for eight hundred dollars. That was enough for one month's rent in Dorothea's apartment complex, a stroller, a high chair, two weeks of groceries, and one beat up, broken-down crib. Later that week, she applied for a job at Taki's. Over the course of three months, that gallery owner had purchased the rest of the paintings she had in her possession – a total of $3,600 in her pocket. She would make it work.

Coming back to the present as she sat on the edge of Matthew's bed, she leaned over and kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment. She would not cry. She would not cry.

Pulling back, she smiled lovingly at her son. "What are we reading tonight?"

"I want some poetry, please." He answered smartly, wriggling down underneath the sheets. It could be a hundred degrees of heat and that boy would still be under the covers.

"Ah, I see. Going back to the classics." Clary said teasingly. "What kind of poetry, Baby?"

"Hmm. I dunno. You pick." Matthew answered, closing his eyes and resting back against his pillow.

Feeling sentimental, Clary reached for the exact book of Blake's poetry that she had read almost exactly six years ago. Flipping open to a random page, she began reading.

…

…

…

Jace slammed whatever her name was – Cindy? Suzy? Jane? Something like that – against the wall and shoved his tongue into her mouth. He was interested only in the release she would bring; the release from restrictions, from consequences, from the image of a certain redhead shaking her head in disappointment and sadness.

The girl was moaning and hissing in pleasure from her trapped spot. Jace wrapped his hands around her thighs and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. The bathroom stall they were in did not provide much room to move around, but that was alright with them. Suddenly, the girl's dress was unzipped and Jace's shirt was off, pooling on the floor in a bright splotch of fabric.

"I don't wanna do this here. Let's go out to my car." The girl whispered against his lips. "It's disgusting in here. Let's go."

"Whatever," Jace bit back, allowing her to disentangle herself from him. She slid into her dress and took him by the hand and led him from the bathroom. He removed his hand from hers, not wanting even the slightest attachment to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mural again and froze stark still and stared at it. He knew why it was familiar now; it was Clary's. It was the painting she had won an award for, the one she was in the paper for.

Guilt flooded into Jace's soul then, rushing in and illuminating all of the sins he had committed that evening. The drinking, the women, the ignorance that he now cursed. The girl, noticing that he was no longer following him, stopped and turned, grabbing his hand to tug him along.

"Don't touch me." Jace snapped, still staring at the painting with a dismal feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Get away from me."

"Well, if I get away from you, it will be kind of hard to…" The girl trailed off as she reached up to whisper in his ear exactly what she planned on doing to him.

Jace shoved her away, not even caring that he just pushed a woman. He was too drunk and too pissed to care. "I said, leave me alone. Get the hell away from me."

The girl made an affronted noise, but obeyed his wishes and moved away from him.

"Slut." Jace muttered under his breath. Striding (stumbling?) out the door, he hailed a cab and barked Clary's address to the driver, promising an extra twenty if they got there in less than twenty minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Jace threw the cash over the seat back and jumped from the cab. For being this drunk, he was surprisingly agile, but he was certainly not graceful. He leaned against the wall as he climbed the stairs to Clary's apartment. He pounded on the door, calling her name.

The door opened a crack, the chain glinting in the limited light offered from the ceiling light in the hallway. Through the slightly ajar door, Jace could see that Clary was in an oversized cotton t-shirt, maybe one of his, and that sleep was still plainly written on her face.

"Jace, what are you-"

"Clary," he exclaimed, "Hey, Baby, let me in. I need to talk – hic – to you."

"Go away, Jace. You're drunk. Go home." Clary's face was tight with anger, but he couldn't see that.

"I know I'm drunk," Jace slurred as he slumped against the door, "I almost slept with someone tonight. Someone that _wasn't _you." At this, Clary's eyes widened in hurt and she attempted to slam the door closed. Jace put his hand out to stop her. "No, no, no. Don't do that. Listen to me." Jace put his forehead on the doorjamb and peered in at her. "I said I _almost_ did. But I didn't because she's not you!"

…

…

…

Matthew was asleep before Clary finished the poem, the even tone of her voice lulling the tired boy to sleep. Yawning, she thought about turning in herself. She kissed her son's forehead before quietly backing from the room and flipping the wall switch to extinguish the overhead light.

She decided she would get one more load of laundry done before retiring for the evening. Moving around the apartment and collecting the dirty articles of clothing took little time, and before the turn of an hour, she was happily in bed with a book and a mug of cocoa. Before long, Clary was nodding off, the book drooping to her chest even as her eyelids drooped to her cheekbones. In what felt like the span of only a few minutes, she heard a pounding at the door. Startled, she jumped from her bed, the book falling to the floor with a resounding thump. Clary hastily donned a robe and moved to the door, frantically trying to shake the sleep from her eyes. In mild surprise, she noticed the clock in the living room read one in the morning. Four and a half hours had passed since she put Matthew to bed.

"Clary!" She heard her name called from behind the door. She froze. Even in the muffled state, she could place the voice. It was Jace.

Opening the door only a crack, she left the chain intact. "Jace, what are you-"

"Clary," he shouted, "Hey, Baby, let me in. I need to talk – hic – to you."

"Go away, Jace. You're drunk. Go home." Clary was furious. She could smell the alcohol on him; the scent, strong and nauseating, wafted through the crack in the door and made her anger grow and grow.

She listened in disbelief as Jace affirmed that fact that he was drunk, and then proceeded to recount his exploits of the night… or near exploits, as it were.

"Mommy, what's going on?" A small voice made itself known behind her, and internally, she cursed. Jace had woken Matthew.

"Nothing, Matthew. Go back to bed. I'll be in in a minute." She turned, trying to block the limited view of Jace that the door provided, but she could not block the sound.

"Is that Jace?" he asked, craning his neck to try to see around her.

"Yes, but he's not feeling well, so he's not himself." Clary tried to shut the door again, but Jace's hand blocked her way. "Now I said go back to bed. I meant it. Go." Her "mother voice" kicked in, and Matthew obliged, though somewhat grudgingly.

Now that matter was taken care of, Clary turned back to the man outside. Still using the authoritative tone, she hissed through the door: "I said, go home Jace. I don't want to see you right now. Leave, or I will call the police. I'm sure they would love to hear from you again."

Jace's face fell and a hurt tone crept into his voice. "But, sweetheart-"

"_Don't _'sweetheart' me. I said leave. I don't want to see you right now. Or ever again." Clary's voice shook in anger and injury. Jace slumped against the door just as she slammed it closed.

His fist pounded on the outside of the door. "Clary!" He called again. "Let me in!" He repeated this phrase several times until Clary opened the door again. Jace, who had been leaning against the door, fell into it as it swung open, hitting his head sharply against the paint chipped wood.

"Leave!" Clary yelled. She knelt down to his level and put her lips against the doorframe. "I am going to call the police if you are not gone in the next two minutes." Having said that, she slammed the door closed once more and angrily stomped to her bedroom.

Apparently, she had been wrong. Jace had not changed a bit.

…

…

…

**Well, I promised you a chapter before the weekend was out, and I did it! (Just barely, but still…) I had a really nasty cold and all I wanted to do was lie around and sip tea all weekend, but I did it. And I did it for you. (Imagine that in a really raspy, creepy voice. Hehehe… )**

**You guys are really sweet! Ya'll are like, "Oh, we're content with the teasers, we're happy waiting for the next chapter…" but seriously, dude. Give me some prompts for a drabble fic. Writing short little stories like that keep me inspired. And being inspired makes me write faster… hint hint, wink wink. : )**

**Also, I'm reinstituting my questions:**

**What is your prompt? ; )**

**What would you like to see more of in the story? The plot will remain the same, but I would like to work in some more of what you would like to see, whether it is more Matthew/Clary interaction, more Alec/Jace interaction, or whatever. Let me know!**

**What is the last movie you watched it did you enjoy it? For me, it was **_**The Raven **_**(2012) and I enjoyed it immensely. **


	13. Chapter 13

Sirens wailed to the throbbing beat in Jace's head, the pain drawing him into consciousness. He grunted softly; sleep still holding him under a dark blanket that he didn't necessarily want to throw off. His cheek twitched as he stirred; every inch of him ached and burned, but through the discomfort, he recognized that he was not lying in his California King at his apartment. Groaning, Jace rolled to his back, eyes still closed. For a moment, he thought he had fallen asleep on Clary's couch again. That thing was about as soft as concrete.

As Jace slowly regained his senses, he realized that he was stretched out on actual concrete, lying in an abandoned back alley. The sickly sweet smell of rotting food and garbage invaded his senses, drawing him into an even more unpleasant place.

_What the hell?_

He struggled to a sitting position, clutching his head against the agony pounding behind his eyes. His stomach rolled and he went still, focusing all of his scattered attention on not losing the contents of his stomach. He groaned as the nausea faded and rubbed his hands over his eyes before raking one through his blonde hair.

Jace was sitting in a dirty alleyway, trash and refuse strewn about carelessly. The stench of human waste and weed wafted to his brain, causing another roll of nausea to wrack his body. This time, he could not stop the sickness from coming and barely managed to roll to one side to avoid getting the mess on his pants.

When he finished, he lay back again. He figured that must have the flu, but that did not explain how or why he was in an alleyway. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he got to his feet, one hand on the grimy brick wall to brace himself. When he reached the already busy New York street, his free hand came up to block the rays of light that had begun to peek through the yet-darkened clouds. He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know how he got there. He just wanted to sleep.

Jace hailed a cab and slid into the back seat, thankful to be out of the light. He grunted out his address, curling a lip at the cabbie when he looked over his shoulder at Jace.

"That's only three blocks away." The man had a Middle Eastern accent.

"I don't really give a rat's ass. Take me there now." Jace snarled.

Five minutes and eighteen muttered curses later, Jace stumbled from the cab. He had somehow managed to not get his wallet stolen or lost, and though he had no cash, the platinum MasterCard from his father's bank was accepted by the cab company.

Falling into the elevator, he reached up and pressed the button for the top floor. Moaning from the dizziness that overtook him as the elevator started its climb, Jace put one hand to the wall to steady himself and the other to his head. With a jolt, the elevator stopped. Jace knew that the bump was a slight one, however, in his impaired state, he felt as though an earthquake were ripping through the very heart of New York.

Just as the elevator opened, Jace felt the familiar twinge in the pit of his stomach. Forgetting the ache in his body, Jace bolted toward the bathroom door, only just managing to position his head over the toilet bowl. He retched hard, but nothing came up. He stayed like that for a while, maybe minutes, maybe hours, until the discomfort alleviated. Down on all fours, he crawled like a dog to his bedroom. Pitiful noises of misery that had never before escaped his lips fell from him left and right. If he had not spent the evening with Clary, he would have suspected that he was hungover. Well, that, and the fact that he did not get hungover. He held his liquor too well.

All of a sudden, Jace had the urge to call Clary. He could not remember the past evening; only that he'd had dinner with Clary and dropped her off at her apartment. Past that, his mind was eerily blank. Maybe Clary could tell him what was going on. Had he gotten ill last night? But that would not explain why he ended up a few blocks away from his apartment in the opposite direction of Clary's. He was too tired to think.

He collapsed on his bed in exhaustion, shoes still on his feet, leather jacket still partially zipped. Groaning again (he was doing a lot of that today) he fumbled through his pockets until he found his phone. Slipping it from his pocket, he punched in Clary's number. He dialed, but no one picked up. Instead, it rang and rang, until finally the voicemail kicked in.

"Clary, it's me. What happened last night?" He paused to rub his calloused hand over his face, as though to scrub away the fog and cobwebs of the previous night. "I think I'm really sick. Maybe the flu or something?" Jace let his head fall back against his pillow as a breath of air rushed from his lips. "I need you to come nurse me back to health and give me sponge baths and that sort of thing." His lips curved into a sly smile at this. "Call me back when you get this." He trailed off. "Though I might not answer. I'm putting my phone on silent. I have a splitting headache. Anyway. Call me."

Jace ended the call just in time to chuck the phone to the side and get to the bathroom again.

"Alec?" Jace called, searching for his friend. "Alec?" he had to stop again to vomit. "Alexander Lightwood, get your ass out here. I'm dying." Jace hollered.

No answer came. Alec was not in the apartment. This was not like him. He was not the boy who spent the night out on the town, bar-crawling and hooking up, getting drunk and partying. Alec was a bookish boy; he preferred the solitude of his apartment or the company of close friend and family.

Jace growled in the back of his throat as he stretched out next to the toilet. This day was getting more and more curious.

…

…

…

Jace woke in his bed, shirt unbuttoned, shoes untied, belt unbuckled. Somehow managing to crack open his sleep filled and aching eyes, he peered at the bedside alarm clock. It read 10:23 in glowing red numbers.

Cautiously, Jace swung his legs over the edge of his bed; he sat up slowly, gingerly. He tested everything, starting with his feet. Gradually, he rolled his ankles, bent his knees, rotated his upper body from the hip, moved his arms in large circles. Lastly, he tilted his head back and forth, side to side. Finally through with his thorough inspection, he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

"What happened last night?" Jace spoke aloud, wincing at his rusty voice. He reached for his phone, checked the messages, and frowned in disappointment. No word from Clary. He dialed her number, but instead it went straight to voicemail. Maybe Matthew was sick again. He dialed again, only to hear her smiling voice as the machine picked up.

Pushing himself away from the bed with a grunt, Jace stood, leaning against the dresser for support. Shower. Shave. Dress. Albeit very slowly.

He finished going through the motions. By this time, it was near noon, and he still had not heard from Clary. He checked his phone again, even though he knew nothing would have changed. No call, no text, no voicemail from her, though he had left eight messages and sent several texts. In a snap decision, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and wallet and headed outside, where he hailed a cab and gave Clary's address.

Thirty minutes later, he was knocking on Clary's door. He waited for only a few seconds before Matthew opened the door, his smile falling from his face when he saw it was Jace. Matthew glared up at him for a moment before Jace asked to come in.

"I have to ask Mommy. Hold on." Matthew closed the door in Jace's face.

"The hell?" Jace muttered, a confused look on his face. "Is this the twilight zone?" First he woke up in an alleyway, then Alec was not home at six in the morning, Clary ignored his calls, and Matt would not let him in the apartment. Something was definitely up.

The door opened a crack and Clary's piercing green eyes were glowering out at him.

"Hey, Babe, what's-"

"Go away." Clary's voice held a note of accusatory anger.

"Wait, what?" Jace asked, confusion leaking through his composure.

"I said, 'go away'." Clary spoke as though talking to a very young child, enunciating every syllable and clearly pronouncing each consonant. "Or are you too hungover to understand that?"

"Clary, what are you- I don't- What?" Jace's head was shaking back and forth as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"I guess you're probably a little fuzzy on last night." She practically was spitting at him, "You wake up with a headache and little confused?"

"Well, actually, I woke up in an alleyway with no memory." He turned on his smile, though he had a pounding headache, and leaned in for a kiss. "I need a nurse to take care of me."

"No, Jace. You're hungover." Clary deadpanned, putting a hand up to stop. She caught his chest, and Jace leaned away, a look of hurt cast over his face. "And I suggest you have the girl you 'almost slept with' from last night take care of you." Her voice dropped in poisonous anger. "Do not come back here. I _will not_ have you near my son anymore." With that said, she slammed the door in his face.

"What the hell?" Jace said aloud again. It was neither the first time nor the last time he would utter that phrase today, but he was getting very sick of saying it. He was getting sick of not knowing what happened the previous night. He pounded on the door again. "Clary!"

The door flew open after he had knocked six or seven times. "Leave!" She whisper shouted. "I don't want to see you anymore."

"Clary, please," Jace begged, grabbing her wrist to draw her out into the hall and into his chest. "I don't know what happened last night. Please," he was frantic; he touched her face with one hand, grasping at her wrists with the other to prevent her from beating at his chest with her fists, "tell me what happened. How can I fix something I don't know about?" His voice was quiet, pleading with her anxiously.

"It _isn't something you can fix!"_ The venom had returned to her voice as continued to futilely try to free her hands so that she could continue pounding at chest. She wanted to hurt him, to make him feel as awful as she did.

Finally fed up with the lack of clarification, the confusion, and the fear that was bubbling in the pit of his stomach, Jace grabbed her shoulders and shook her, just once, to get her attention.

"Tell me what the hell happened last night. Clary, this is killing me. _What happened?" _

"You figure it out yourself, Jace. I'm done." Her voice was steely, harsh, and cold. Nothing like Clary. Having said that, she detached herself from Jace and ducked into her apartment, closing the door firmly. A note of finality drifted back to Jace.

"What the hell?"

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Jace staggered down the hallway, down the stairs, and back into the street. His head was pounding; each beat of his heart created a fresh wave of pain, both physical and emotional. His heart felt wrenched apart; confusion coursed through his veins with the pulse of his blood. He needed to find Alec – maybe he could explain.

Jace stopped short. In the head of the moment, Jace hadn't fully registered what Clary said. She had mentioned a girl. _What girl?_ Jace slid into a cab and barked his address to the cab driver. Jace concentrated all of his energy in remembering what happened the previous night. He sighed and rubbed his fingers over his face in a subconscious attempt to remove the walls in his memory.

Clary said he was hungover. That was not possible. Out of anyone that he partied with, he held his liquor the best. He would have to drink more than he'd ever had before, almost to the level of alcohol poisoning. He had been blackout drunk before, certainly, but never to the extent of not remembering _anything_ from the past eighteen hours. He was slightly worried. He was the first to admit that he had a habit of getting drunk and going home with random women – he'd lost his virginity that way. But he _hadn't _touched alcohol _or _another woman since he'd started seeing Clary.

Alec would know. Alec would be able to tell him what was wrong with him.

The cab stopped short; Jace looked around, startled, and realized he was outside his apartment. He paid, and exited the cab. He was so deep in his thoughts that he'd lost track of time. He trudged up the front steps, frustrated almost to the point of tears. Well, not really. Even in his impaired state, he did not cry. He would never cry again. The elevator was quick, and just a few moments later, he was jiggling the doorknob, slightly surprised to find it unlocked. Entering the spacious common room, he shouted for Alec; he was feeling much better, but he still needed to know what was going on.

Alec opened the door of his bedroom, peeking out before coming out to meet Jace. He was dressed and looking refreshed. "Hey. What's up? Where were you?"

"There you are, you bastard." Jace was angry. "You are a real son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Oh, believe me," Alec said wearily, tugging his hands through his unkempt hair, "I know. I've know that since I was five years old."

"Oh, shut up and listen to me." Jace was cross; he did not like not knowing what was going on. "What happened last night? I went to Clary's and she said I almost slept with someone last night. Tell me what the hell happened." Jace snapped at Alec, knowing that he would feel guilty later. Right now, however, he did not care. He wanted answers.

Alec smirked. "You're awfully nasty for someone who wants answers."

Jace snarled at him. "Tell me what happened, you ass."

Alec sighed, relenting. "You, Sebastian and I went to that new bar last night. Man, I have never seen you drink so much." Alec was grinning, Jace was dying inside. Clary was right. "You did hook up with someone. Or, almost hooked up with her, or something. I don't know. I saw you leaving with her, but-" Alec stopped short, a slight twinge of red touching his cheeks. Jace did not notice. He sank into the plush leather couch, his head in his hands.

"And where the hell where you this morning?" Jace muttered. His world was crashing down around his feet, and he was searching for normality, even in the slightest bit. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it.

"I-I- I just, I, um." Jace looked up to see a furious blush overtaking Alec's ruddy features. He was gesticulating wildly with his hands, trying to find something, anything, to say to throw Jace off his trail.

Jace stood quickly, a head rush nearly blinding him on top of the pounding headache. "You had sex last night."

"What?" Alec squawked.

Jace's stance was predatory. "You did. You had sex, you naughty, naughty boy." Jace leered toward his best friend. "What's her name, or didn't you get it?" Jace barked one short laugh. He was pushing it too far, but he needed to lash out, to cause someone else pain. "Well, I guess you can't rag on me anymore, can you?" Jace laughed, a slightly maniacal edge to his voice.

Alec breathed a slight sigh of relief as he turned to go to the kitchen to get a drink of water. His throat was tight, his breathing labored. He had nearly slipped – Jace could not find out.

"Name, Alec!" Jace demanded. His anger and fear manifested in his abuse of Alec.

"Uh, Brittney or something. She was that, uh," he scrambled for a moment, trying to remember one, just one of the girls that he had seen last night, "Uh, dark-haired one, at the bar." Well, it was half true.

"Great. You got laid. Now help me figure out what I'm going to do about Clary." Jace sank back into the couch.

"Dude, move on. I can't believe you were wasting your time with her anyway. Frigging gold-digger." Alec sniffed, turning to the refrigerator to choose his drink. Before he knew it, however, he was spun around and pinned to the front of the cool metal surface. Jace's arm was at his throat, his free hand pointing a finger in Alec's face.

"Don't you say that. Don't you dare say that." Jace was threatening his best friend, but he did not care. Alec was insulting Clary, and he would not have that.

"Jace, let me go before I return the favor." Alec was firm; he knew Jace was still hungover, he knew Jace was hurting (though he did not understand why), and he knew Jace loved him. He loved Jace too, but at the moment, he was pushing it.

"Don't you ever insult her. She was perfect, and I screwed it up. Just like everything else I touch." Jace shoved away from Alec, turned, and left the room. He locked the door behind him and dove into his bed, wishing for all the world to turn back the clock and move forward with his life, his life with Clary and Mattie. He buried his face in his pillow.

Today, he would sleep. He would recover his senses, and he would repair the damage. Tomorrow, he would win Clary back.

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**Chapter thirteen… And you guys thought I was never going to bring the angst. I bet you're going to regret saying that as you continue to read. Hehehe… :]**

**Back to the drabble thing: Go read **_**A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That **_**by Orlissa92. That's basically what I want to do, except with Mortal Instruments/Infernal Devices. I want to branch out and stop limiting myself to oneshots and fics with complete story lines. Also, I would like the challenge of not completely coming up with the topic myself. So you guys would leave a one word prompt, maybe leave pairing you would like to see with said prompt, and I would write a drabble on it. Sound good? If you get a chance, leave it in your review. Hint hint nudge nudge. = )**

**Question time: What's your favorite TV show? Oooooh, or recommend a fic for me to read. I would prefer Mortal Instruments or Infernal Devices, Hush, Hush, Legend of Korra, or HEAVILY SCREENED Twilight. I read all types of fics, angst or romance, rated K-M. : )**

**Story Rec: **_**Nuclear Bombs**_** by varicose. This story is absolutely heart wrenching and beautiful and painful, and it's only thirteen chapters in. **

**Peace and Love,**

**Speaknow1118**


	14. Chapter 14

Jace lay on his back in his bed, not doing anything, just staring at the white ceiling. He'd counted every individual decorative mark on the white tiles, but now he had given up and was simply lying there. He was tired, exhausted even, but sleep evaded him. Craning his neck to the right, he looked towards the clock only to sigh in frustration. It was too late for him to fall asleep, yet it was still too early for him to rise and begin his day.

Today it started. Today, he would begin his efforts to get Clary back. He thought of her while he was lying there.

Yesterday, Alec had asked him why he was so invested in this girl. He could not answer, because he did not know. He didn't love her. That much, he knew. He was not looking for a real commitment either. He did not want marriage, he did not want children. He did not want to give up the chase, the alcohol, and the parties; the previous night proved that much, at least. He reverted back to his old playboy self when he was the least bit spooked or stressed.

So what was the deal with Clary? Maybe he was just bored and looking for a change of pace. He was stubborn and tenacious; when he wanted something, he was like a dog with a bone. If he didn't get it immediately, he would worry away, never releasing his death grip until the other party relinquished and gave in. Some said that his spoiled upbringing planted this trait in him. He knew better, but he allowed them all to think that he was just a rich brat; it was easier than letting them all get deep inside of him.

It was true that he felt an uncontrollable urge to be close to Clary. It was probably just his curiosity. He had never dated a girl like Clary before. Yes, he had slept with women who had given birth – he'd had an affair with one of his teammate's mother (to this day, no one but the two of them knew about it) – but they'd only been interested in the simple fact that he was much younger than them and _very _good looking. They had used him for simple pleasure, and because he got the thrill of deception and craftiness of hiding something from others, he went along with it. The flings never lasted more than a week or two, but there was plenty of physical gratification. He got in, got what he wanted, and got out before her feelings could ever have a chance to develop and entangle him.

Clary was so… different though. She was not invested in his body. In fact, they had not gone beyond kissing or cuddling in the few months that they'd been together. Only in that past week had they actually had sex. It had been great; Jace had never felt so close to someone, such a sense of intimacy, but from a physical sense, it was nothing special. He'd had better. But on a personal, emotional level, Jace was blown away. For once, he was not worried about what he was getting out of sex; he was worried about what he was putting in.

Clary did not care about images or money or any of that. When he tried to buy her things, she got mad. She actually got angry at him. When he bought the mattress and its accessories for her, Clary gave him the silent treatment for several days. She was highly atypical from the girls that she usually dated.

Jace shook his head and tossed the sheets away from his body. He rose and showered, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. Grabbing a power bar from the personal stash he hid from Alec, he quickly dressed and left the apartment. He broke into an easy jog, turning left and right, not paying attention to where or how far he ran. His feet pounded the pavement; he enjoyed the rivers of sweat that ran down over his banded chest, the feel of his breath dragging in and out, and the pounding noise his feet made against the cool gray cement of the sidewalks in the city. It was still early; the sun was only just peeking over the top of the bay, the streetlights still lending themselves to the yet darkened streets. It was strangely eerie; the small bodegas on the corners weren't open yet, cars still drove by, but the streets where not choked with the yellow cabs, green buses, and dark escort cars. He picked up his pace, pushing himself faster and harder, craving the release that hardcore exercise would bring him. Soon after he started his sprint, he was gasping for breath; sweat poured over him. He turned down unknown streets, changed his mind and took a different route, not caring where he ended up. He grunted at the effort.

He stopped. He stood outside Clary's apartment building. He sat on the cool cement steps, breathless and parched, as he tried to calm his mind and body down. He was angry again, at himself, at the world, at the circumstances that had brought him to this point. He was angry at his parents, his friends; even that stupid, ugly tree that peeked up through the cement sidewalk on the corner. Jace pounded a fist against the gray concrete, relishing the pain that shot through his arm and the blood that dripped from the abrasion on his curled fist. He sighed as peeled the fluorescent yellow running shirt Alec had given him over his head, draping it around his neck, and leaned back against the steps. Running his hands over his face, Jace groaned. Of course he ended up here. Where else would he possibly go?

Maybe that was why he kept going back to Clary. He could talk to her about anything. He had _never _opened up like that with anyone else, ever. Not his father, not his high school basketball coach, the man who had shaped Jace more than anyone ever had. Not even Alec, who had been his best friend for twenty years, knew everything about Jace, but Clary did. Clary understood him, and appreciated him, and calmed him. For his whole life, Jace had been tossed around and trained and belittled, unloved and unknown by those whom he had worshipped. Yes, he had friends that he would willingly lay down his life for and who would return the favor, but on some levels, they just did not connect. Clary was just one of those people that bonded with. She would keep their secrets, understand the darkest part of themselves that they offered and never bat an eyelash.

Groaning, he lifted his wrist to check his watch. Seven AM. He'd been running for three hours. He sighed again. He had to make it up to her, to get her back. He needed someone like that, someone who would never turn him away, who would not be frightened off by his dark past. Someone who would accept him for everything he was. He knew that this thing he had with Clary could not last forever, and he didn't want it to, but for the moment, it was the most perfect thing in his life. Lifting his body from the uncomfortable position on the steps, he stood and began jogging in the general direction of his apartment.

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After another hour of jogging, Jace reached the large penthouse he shared with Alec. It's proximity to campus and the degree of luxury it offered were acceptable in Jace's mind, so he bought it. It barely dented his trust fund. He loved living in the city; his family owned several properties both in the city and the suburbs. He had always preferred living the city, though, intrigued by the busyness of people rushing past him when he was four years old, clutching his father's large hand in his much smaller one, having to take three steps to match one of his father's long strides.

He liked weekend trips to the big stone house in the quaint countryside, however. The house was perfectly settled, built in the late 1700's by a wealthy Dutch merchant. It was far enough from the city that one could escape the pollution and noise, but close enough that one could be back to the skyscrapers and concrete of the city in less than two hours. When he was little, Jace's mother had taken him there every weekend for years to escape his father. They had played pretend; he was a prince that had to save the beautiful queen from the evil dragon, or they were space explorers, or sometimes, if his mother was feeling particularly generous, they would pretend to have a cooking show. Oh, the messes they would make. Flour and eggs everywhere, but the cookies they produced were delicious. Most of the time.

He pushed the door open as he pushed the memories from his mind; he couldn't afford to think like that. Alec was inside, speaking in hushed tones on the phone. "No, he's not here, but he might be back soon, so you can't come over." A pause. "Because you might run into each other, that's why. You're not ready for that. No! I don't want you here right now. Look, I like you." Another pause. "A lot, okay? I like you a lot, but it's too much too fast. Please, please try to understand. I'll come over later. I promise. I need to just… I don't know. Regroup or something. Please, just try to – I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I'll call you later?" Alec's voice went up slightly at the end of his speech, signaling a question, signaling his uncertainty.

Jace closed the door a bit louder than he usually did, enjoying watching Alec jump in surprise, hanging up his phone with a quick press of his thumb. He stood before Jace, squirming under his scrutiny.

"Lady trouble?" Jace asked, somewhat facetiously.

"I wish." Alec muttered under his breath. "Where were you?" He asked louder, changing the subject before Jace could hone in on his last comment.

"Running. I couldn't sleep." Jace brushed past Alec towards the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator open to grab a thirty-two ounce Gatorade and a microwaveable breakfast sandwich.

"When did you start? You're soaked." Alec's comments were droll and mundane, mindless filler designed to distract both of them from the fight last night.

"I don't know. Like four or something." Jace replied, twisting the top from the cold Gatorade bottle and downing half of it. "Ah, nutrients." He muttered. The microwave dinged; Jace opened it and retrieved his sandwich. Turkey sausage, egg, cheese, and a croissant. He bit into it, not bothering to exert the energy of walking to the table.

"I can make you real food," Alec said.

"I could have made myself real food, but I only cared about the instant gratification." Jace remarked.

"Whatever, smart ass. What do you want to eat?" Alec answered.

"A caviar, pate, and lobster pizza drizzled with Parisian wine." Jace knew he was acting out against Alec, but he was so tired and angry that he did not care. It was becoming a pattern, and neither of the boys, though they recognized the problem, wanted to create another issue by attempting to solve this one. Both knew it would blow over in a few days; Alec thought it would happen because Jace would move on from his fling with Clary, Jace thought it would happen when Alec realized Clary was good for Jace.

"Eggs and toast it is." Alec said, slipping a false note of cheerfulness into his voice.

"I am a man, men eat meat. Bacon too, please." Jace took his sandwich and drink and collapsed on the couch.

"Don't!" Alec shouted. "You're filthy! Isabelle will kill us both if we mess up the couch she just bought us."

Jace nodded wearily and stood. "I expect my food will be waiting for me when I emerge fresh and smelling wonderful from my shower."

"Whatever, princess." Alec tossed back over his shoulder. Of course, it was. Alec couldn't say no to Jace, no matter how hard he tried. Sometimes, it really sucked to be in love with your best friend.

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Jace ate quickly and was out the door again. Dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a black band t-shirt, he slipped his sunglasses over his nose and climbed into his car. He was at Clary's apartment in just a few minutes; traffic was extraordinarily good and he only needed to make one stop – the fresh flower market. He bought the prettiest bunch he could find; something simple and yet unassumingly gorgeous. He was gentle with the delicate blossoms, softly placing them on the seat next to him before he finished the drive to Clary's. Thankfully, there was a coffee cart at the end of the street where she lived and he purchased the largest size available.

Staring up at the brick building in which she lived, Jace took a deep breath. He was scared. One at a time, he took the steps to the third floor. He placed the coffee and the flowers on the floor outside of her door and listened for a moment. Within, he could hear Matthew watching his cartoons, chattering about something that Jace couldn't quite make out. He could see it in his head – Mattie would be sitting on the edge of beat up, raggedy, blue couch, his head turned just enough that he could at Clary if need be, but not too much so as to obstruct his view of the television. Clary was probably making his breakfast in the kitchen, nodding and smiling and answering when she needed to, completely absorbed in her son. A small ache built in his chest; he wanted to be in there with them more than he wanted to breathe right now. He wanted to be a part of a family, even if just for a moment. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and knocked three times.

Then he turned and walked away. Clary said she did not want to see him, so he would respect that. But he wouldn't stop trying. He stepped around the corner to hide and watch as Clary opened the door.

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Matthew was talking about how cool elephants are. Clary was in the kitchen making their breakfast while her son was watching cartoons and speaking at a mile a minute. She had worked the graveyard shift last night, and was completely exhausted. Matthew had slept in the back room as usual, and was very well-rested. Thankfully, he had a play date today, and so she had a reprieve. She could nap, do laundry, get some cleaning and paperwork done, maybe sketch a little. He was not supposed to be back until five or six that night, and Mrs. Dewitt would be by soon to pick him up. Almost ten hours, all to herself.

"That's great, Baby. Come eat, Jared's mom will be here soon." She scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate just as the toast popped up from the toaster. She poured a glass of milk for him, and set everything together on the table. Matthew sat down and promptly began to shovel everything in with great gusto.

"What am I going to do when you get older and actually start eating like a boy?" Clary teased with a little smile as she dropped a kiss on the top of her son's head.

"I am a boy!" He protested, his small voice squeaking in his indignation.

"I know, buddy. It was a joke."

"Well, it wasn't very funny." He spoke around a mouthful of eggs, little particles of yellow food spattering from his mouth when he talked.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, young man."

"Sorry."

They bantered back and forth for a few moments, stopping only when there was a knock at the door.

"They're here!" Matthew gasped, pushing back from the table and running into his bedroom to get the bad he packed.

Clary chuckled to herself as she strode over to answer the door. Opening it with a smile, she was shocked to see that no one stood in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought saw someone disappearing around the corner, but when she stepped out into the hallway, glancing around to see if someone had knocked on the wrong door, there was no one. However, she nearly kicked over something that looked suspiciously like a coffee cup. It sat next to a beautiful bouquet of flowers, but there was no note. Bending down to pick it up, she realized that it was, in fact, a large cup of coffee. On the white plastic lid, parts of it dyed brown by splashes of coffee, two words were scrawled in black sharpie.

_I'm sorry._

So it was from Jace. She sighed and shook her head tiredly. He couldn't take a hint, apparently. Still, they were beautiful flowers. And the coffee smelled amazing. And she hadn't made any coffee yet this morning. She studied the objects in her hands for a moment before sighing, shrugging, and turning to enter her apartment again.

She didn't see the smile that Jace wore; in fact, she didn't even see him hidden around the wall at the end of the hallway.

Inside, Matthew was emerging from his bedroom, the backpack slung across his shoulder, looking around for his friend. "Where's Jared?" he asked, confused.

"He's not here yet, honey. It was someone dropping off this stuff for me. Go put your plate in the sink, because he really will be here any minute." As if on cue, there was another knock at the door. This time, it really was the Dewitts, and a few moments and hastily discussed plans later, Matthew was gone and Clary was alone in the apartment. She sipped at her coffee and studied the flowers for a moment before running some water into a vase. She set the bouquet at the window, where it could gather the sunlight and live just a little longer. Below her, she could see Jace pull away in his Aston Martin. Maybe it had been him at the end of the hallway.

Exhausted, she pulled off work uniform and collapsed on her bed in her underwear, too tired to even pull on a t-shirt. Clary snuggled down under the covers and closed her eyes, but sleep evaded her now.

"Damn caffeine." She muttered. Her thoughts drifted. Jace was sneaky. She had said that she didn't want to see him, so she didn't. She saw his gifts, but he was nowhere to be found.

She was done though. If Jace wanted to get drunk and screw around, he wouldn't come crawling back to her afterwards. She didn't roll like that. She didn't necessarily want a full out commitment, but they'd slept together. She knew what kind of guy Jace was before they'd met, but Clary had honestly thought that he had changed. She wanted that more than anything else, but it hadn't happened. She supposed that she ought to be thankful for the fact that he had not actually slept with someone else, but she really could not bring herself to be that forgiving. It wasn't as if he'd tripped and fallen against this girl with only their clothes as a barrier. It took willful actions on both sides, and that was unacceptable.

The fact that he was so drunk he did not remember any of it did not help his case either.

It did seem, on the other hand, like he was making an effort. Jace didn't strike Clary as the type of person to try and get someone back.

"Ugh, I don't know what to do!" Clary shrieked, covering her face with her hands.

She was not in love, not with Jace, not with anybody. She wouldn't be that weak. But, the magnetism she felt when she was around Jace was undeniable. She was drawn to him. She wanted to be near him all the time, she wanted to listen to and talk to him.

She wanted to go back to him, but she couldn't. She wouldn't be placed in a position like that again. That was one of the most painful things she had ever done, and returning to Jace would all but ensure that she would go through that again.

She had Matthew to think about. Jace had hurt him too, and that could not happen again either. Sighing and turning to her side, Clary realized what she needed to do.

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**So, there's chapter 14. You guys are really gonna regret asking where the angst was. *evil smile* I just needed to get you hooked on the fluff so you had to keep reading. *double evil smile***

**Story Rec: Amuse Me by faultylilac. It's under my favorites. It's just a drabble, but it's wonderful.**

**Please keep sending me Story Recs and prompts for when I start my drabble fic. If you aren't sure what a drabble fic is, please read A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That by Orlissa92. That's what I want to do. **

**As always, thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

Clary slowly blinked herself awake. She stretched, reveling in the fact that she had woken up on her own terms, rather than jolted awake by a small body catapulting itself on top of her. Matthew's birthday was only a week away, and for the past few days, he had taken to waking up early every morning – and he was intent on dragging Clary with him.

Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She stretched again as she walked towards the kitchen, but a realization hit her, and she stopped short. There was no real need to make coffee. Jace would have left her one at the door. For a week now, Jace had been leaving the presents: in addition to the coffee, twice a day there would be a bouquet of flowers and another gift, a different one every day. Once there was chocolate, once there was a painting by a street artist she admired. She was literally out of counter space on which to keep the flowers, and the whole apartment carried a heavy floral scent.

Before making her way to the door, she cracked open Matthew's door to check on her sleeping son. He was out like a light, and she smiled. She hardly recognized him with his mouth closed, a peaceful expression on his face as he slept. Just as she quietly tugged Matthew's door closed, a knock sounded from door in the living room. Only once, just a single tap on the wood. She frowned, wondering who it was. She quickly crossed the room, tying her robe closed, and opened the door. Her smile froze as recognition set in; it was Jace.

In his hands, he had a cup of coffee, a bouquet of flowers, and small, light blue envelope. He handed each of them to her, his golden eyes big and luminous as he looked at her with a reserved expression. He quickly said, "I'm sorry," and then walked away. Clary looked after him in shock, standing there for a few moments as Jace strode down the hallway. She shook her head, regaining her wits and retreating back into her apartment. She collapsed on the couch, still reeling from her encounter with Jace. So far, he hadn't actually come to the door, just left her things on the front mat.

She was a bit shaken; she had not expected him, nor had she particularly wanted to see him. The coffee and the flowers he lavished her with were too much; it had to stop, but she did not want to see him long enough to end it. He had hurt her, and seeing him brought a fresh wave of pain. In her experience, avoiding the problem was always the best solution. Pushing back emotions and tamping down feelings was always safer. Clary had been hurt too deeply and too many times to risk making any decision that was not planned out and thoughtfully executed; rushing into things could pose a threat to herself or Matthew, and that was something she could not risk. Matthew had to come first, and Jace did not seem to realize that. Getting drunk and coming to her apartment in the middle of the night was simply could not happen. Clary was not the naïve girl she was six years ago; she had learned not to be the forgiving little girl that was so hungry to please others. Now, instead, she was a strong, independent woman. She had changed for the better the moment she saw the ultrasound.

Sighing, she sipped at the coffee and looked at the letter in her hands. She groaned, deliberating on whether or not to read it when a rush of anger hit her like a ton of bricks. Why should she read his letter? Why should she fall prey to his words? Jace was so damn good at sweet talk, laying on the moves, romancing a girl until she gave it up, and then, BAM – he was back to the old Jace, drinking and sleeping around. He probably only seriously dated a girl to make himself feel better and bedding woman after woman. She stood and stomped to her bedroom, shoving the letter in a box on her dresser. Clary crossed her arms in indignation and huffed a breath of frustration.

She reached for the letter, and then paused. She reached for the letter again, and then paused. She groaned, raking her hands through her hair. Why couldn't she just be mature about this? She was twenty-one years old; there was no need for her to act like a fourteen year old girl with her first crush.

Just as she reached for the letter once more, Clary heard a stirring in the next room. "Mommy?" A sleepy little voice called for her. "Momma, where are you?"

"In here, Baby. I'll be right out." Clary sighed, pushing the letter farther into the box it sat in. She would think about it for the rest of the day and decide later that night if she would read it or not.

Sometimes, being a grownup sucked.

…

…

…

The day passed rather uneventfully. Busy, absolutely, but uneventful. Clary had taken Matthew school shopping at some of the thrift stores, having scrimped and saved about a hundred dollars to buy some new (to him) clothes for school. He had grown a great deal in the past year, and he needed new jeans, a few long sleeve shirts, and a warmer winter jacket.

Matthew, of course, acted like a teenager.

"I don't like that, Mommy,"

"This jacket is too big!"

"That's really not my style."

Clary had had enough; "Matthew James Fray," her voice was stern and commanding; her son looked at her guiltily as Clary's green eyes snapped. "You are six years old. _Far_ too young to have this kind of attitude. The jacket needs to be a little big because you will grow, and I am not buying you three coats in one year. You do not get to have a style because I am buying your clothes." Her voice, though not raised, was stern and commanding. She sighed, relenting as she looked at Matthew cowering in front of her. "You can pick what kind of clothes you want to wear, but you cannot be picky." She ran her hands through his too long hair, already beginning to curl like hers, and tilted his head up. "Okay?"

He nodded, and cast his eyes down. "Okay, Momma. Sorry." He mumbled.

"It's alright. Now," Clary added, clearing her throat, "If you see another jacket that you like that is a little big, you can get that one. Otherwise, we're going to stick with this one." Clary motioned to the piece, a perfectly fine dark blue coat that would keep him warm through the bitter New York winters, the only thing that Clary really worried about.

Matthew smiled and turned to keep looking as Clary took inventory of their cart. Six pairs of jeans: twenty-five dollars. Eight long sleeve shirts, two short sleeve shirt, and three polos: thirty-five dollars. A new winter coat: fifteen dollars. She had almost topped out her budget.

"Here, Mom. I like this one." Matthew presented her with a denim jacket, the inside lined with flannel. It was thick, padded well against the cold air, and better yet, it was about two sizes too big. Perfect.

"That will do just fine. You'll look like a little lumberjack… or maybe a cowboy." Clary held the coat up to inspect it.

"Mom, please." Matthew scoffed, smiling. "I'll look like a seven year old."

Heads turned as Clary's laughter echoed through the store.

…

…

…

By the time they had had gotten to the thrift shop, finished shopping, checked out, and gotten to the subway to take home, hours had passed. It was late afternoon, and neither of them had eaten since breakfast. It didn't really help that the smell of the hot dogs and knishes from the vendor down the street from the train station was wafting towards them. Matthew looked down the street, and then glanced up at Clary hopefully.

Clary sighed; pulling her hand from Matt's to reach into the large, Bohemian bag she used as a purse. She had five dollars left. "Alright." She said. "Let's get a hot dog. You can have _one_," she cautioned, "And then I'll make dinner as soon as we get home."

"Oh, let him have two. My treat." A golden voice rang from behind her. She turned to see Jace pulling headphones from his ears, rings of sweat staining his shirt, the droplets of perspiration dripping down his face. He was breathing hard, clearly out on a strenuous run.

Clary's eyes flashed and she shook her head, annoyed. Matthew leapt forward with a shout of joy to throw his arms around Jace, the older man's past indiscretions long forgotten.

"What are you doing here, Jace?"

"Oh, come on, Clary. It's not like you own the street." Jace answered, returning Matthew's hug gently. He instantly regretted his words when he saw her eyes snap to his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"Matthew, here," She thrust the money at her son, "Go get a hot dog and come right back."

Matthew took the money from her hand and scampered down the street, recognizing that something was going on between the adults.

"Did you read my letter?" Jace asked as he tugged his shirt over his head, enjoying the both the cooling breeze that washed over his chest and the half annoyed, half lustful look on Clary's face.

"Did you really need to take off your shirt?" Clary asked.

"Did you read my letter?" Jace replied.

"Shirt?" Clary's words were pointed.

"Letter?" Jace smirked.

Clary looked around, sighing in frustration. "No. I didn't read your letter. I have a six year old; it's not like I can do everything as it presents itself."

"Yes, I did need to take my shirt off. I get very hot when I'm running and I don't like sweaty clothes."

Clary tried her hardest to avoid looking at his very well toned chest. Jace noticed her not noticing and smirked again. "See something you like, Fray?"

Her face snapped up to meet his. She sighed and crossed her arms, looking down at her feet, then back up to him. "Jace, this has to stop."

Jace's smile fell. "What do you mean?" He asked quietly.

"The coffee, the flowers, everything. It has to end; we can't go on like this."

"Just…" he trailed off, looking for the right words, "Just read the letter."

"Jace," Clary started in again, but he had already replaced the headphones and Clary could hear the music pumping through.

"Just read the letter, and then call me." Jace leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck. "Please." His voice was soft as his eyes burned into hers. As he took off running, Matt showed up, happily biting into the hot dog, grease dripping down over his chin. Clary stared after Jace for a few moments, watching his golden curls bounce with every step, the muscles in his back and legs pulsing with every moment, and then looked down at her son and clicked her tongue.

"Did you get a napkin?" Clary asked disapprovingly.

Matthew smiled around the food in his mouth and waved a flimsy white napkin in the air. Clary took it from his and wiped his mouth before taking his hand and reaching down to pick up the discarded thrift store bags and lead him down the steps to the waiting train.

…

…

…

Dinner made. Matthew bathed. Teeth brushed. Matthew tucked in. Clary showered.

The rest of her night passed in a blur. It was 10:30 before she knew it. Tomorrow was Matthew's sixth birthday, a fact that he had crowed over and over again until Clary had forced him into bed, turning out the lights and kissing him good night. Clary felt old. She knew it was ridiculous to feel like that; she was only twenty-one. She guessed having a six year old does that to a person.

She craved alone time right now. Her thoughts kept going back to Jace. His handsome face flashed before her eyes every time she blinked; his voice as he pleaded with her to just read the letter. She sat curled on the couch, internally arguing with herself as she flip-flopped back and forth.

_Read the letter. He didn't actually sleep with that girl._

_Don't read the letter. He didn't respect you enough to not go out, get plastered, and almost have sex with some nameless, faceless woman._

_Read the letter. Everyone makes mistakes. You certainly did._

_Don't read the letter. You have a son to protect. _

Back and forth and back and forth she went for a long time. Finally, after almost an hour of debating with herself, she stood from her comfortable spot on the couch, crept into her bedroom, pulled the letter from its spot on the dresser and collapsed on the bed. Slowly, agonizingly, she slit the envelope and pulled the crinkled paper from its place. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

_Dear Clary,_

_Have I ever told you how much I love your name? I've never heard the name "Clary" before. It's beautiful. Just like you. From the moment I saw you, I thought you were gorgeous. Way too pretty to be a mom, that's for sure. You're probably reading this right now, shaking your head and rolling your eyes, thinking that I'm just trying to butter you up._

With a start, Clary realized that he had accurately predicted her emotions. She smiled, but kept reading.

_And now I bet your smiling because you didn't realize that you were doing that. Damn, I'm good. But back to you. _

_I've never been good with words. Sure, I can make a witty comeback or verbally spar with the best of them. I can charm anyone at any time, but when it comes to outwardly expressing my emotions, I'm not so good. For that, I have reasons that would fill a hundred letters. That's a different story for a different time though. _

_Letters, I am good at. I can have a thousand chances to write what I feel. It's not a one and done deal where whatever I blurt out is what's out. I can think and plan; I'm not distracted by your reactions or the interruptions of a very cute almost six year old. (You can tell him I said that.)_

_Clary, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry. I'm scared. I've never had a real, actual, honest to God relationship with a woman before. I meet, we have sex, and it's done. I never see them again. But I don't want that with you. The past four months have been the most exciting, the most fun, and the scariest of my life. I've never bought a girl a mattress before, but I found myself wanting to – for you. I want to spend time with you and get to know you. I want to be around you. I want to kiss you. I want to wake up next to you in the morning after I made love to you. _

_I can keep going – if there is one thing I can do, it's talk. But I don't want to mindlessly talk at you, Clary. I want you to see that I'm serious. I'm not perfect – I have no doubt that I will screw up again – but I'm serious. _

_Please. Please. Please. Call me. Talk to me. Let me know that you understand and that you want this too. _

_Yours,  
>Jace<em>

Clary froze, her face blank with the amount of emotions surging through her at that moment. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. Part of her wanted to scream. Instead, she reached for her phone and punched in the familiar set of numbers.

"Clary."

He picked up after only one ring; the relief and thankfulness in his voice was palpable.

"I read it."

"And?" His voice was pitched low; he waited on bated breath.

"And…" She trailed off for a moment, looking for the right words. She had not thought this through, simply given into her emotion and called him. "And I don't know what to think."

"Try," he begged. "Please. Just try and get it out."

"Jace, I don't know what to say." Clary started, still grasping at the pieces the letter had left her mind in. "It was a beautiful letter." She admitted. She could hear him chuckled once through the phone. Clary raked her hands through her hair. "Why don't we get coffee tomorrow?"

"What about Friday?" Jace asked slowly, having already made plans with Alec, and since they were still tense over his estrangement from Clary, he wasn't eager to cancel on Alec.

"Friday is Mattie's birthday. I can't tomorrow." Clary's voice was quiet, wondering why, after pushing so hard for this, Jace wanted to prolong it.

Jace deflated. "That's right. I'm sorry. I had plans with Alec tomorrow, but I'll move them around. It's no big deal."

"Look, I promise that I will meet you tomorrow. Wherever you want," she offered, "Call me when you're done with Alec. We can talk then. It will give us time to collect our thoughts and do whatever." She finished lamely.

"Thank you." Jace breathed through the phone. He gave her a location only three blocks from her apartment. He had never taken her there before, but the coffee was excellent and pastries were top notch.

"Okay, that's fine. I'll see you there." Clary paused for a moment. "Good night, Jace."

He sighed. "Good night, Clary."

…

…

…

Jace sent Clary a quick text, letting her know that he was done with Alec and would meet her at the coffee shop as soon as she was able. Within twenty minutes, he got a reply saying she would be there at three.

He glanced at the clock in the corner of his cell phone. That gave him thirty minutes to get there. He left immediately, wanting to beat her there to get a good seat, one in the corner that would give them at least a little privacy. This was between them, no one else.

He got there with just a few minutes to spare, sliding into a corner booth just as Clary walked through the door, spying his waving hand out of the corner of her eye. He slid her sunglasses from their spot on the tip of her nose to set on the crown of her head, loosely pushing back the red, spiraling curls that cascaded over her shoulders.

"Hi," Jace murmured as she sat across from him, smiling uncertainly at him and returning his greeting. "What would you like to drink? Or eat?"

"Uh, just coffee. Thanks." Clary said as he rose to place their order. A few moments later, he returned, two cups of steaming coffee in hand. He placed one in front of her before sipping out of the one in his hand.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Clary asked, just as Jace said the same thing. They smiled bashfully, recognizing that this was even more awkward than a middle school dance.

"You first," Clary insisted.

"Well," Jace started haltingly, "You read my letter, so you pretty much know where I stand." Clary nodded slowly. "Do you have any questions about it?"

"Why did you do it?" She whispered.

"I told you. I was scared."

"Scared of what? Jace, I'm scared of a lot of things, but I don't run off and almost have sex with some random guy." She deadpanned.

"I'm scared of you, Clary." Jace answered simply. "You scare me with all your ferocity and love and protectiveness."

"That's nothing to be scared of, Jace."

"It is for me." He said quietly, tracing the rim of the dark blue coffee mug with his index finger.

"Is that one of those 'hundreds of letters things'?" Clary asked, her curiosity getting the better of the buzz of anger she had going.

"Yes. But that's not what we're here to talk about right now." He was deflecting, Jace knew he was, but he was desperate to keep that part of him hidden for a little while longer yet,

Clary rolled her eyes and took an angry sip of coffee.

"Well, Jace, you can't do that with me. I have a six year old son who was asking me all kinds of questions about you." Her green eyes were snapping. "'Why was Jace acting like that, Mommy?' 'Is Jace sick, Mommy?' 'Why isn't Jace here today, Mommy, where did he go?'" She sighed heatedly. "I will not have my son in that kind of environment. If I wanted that, I would find his father or move back in with my parents again. I am _not _dealing with this anymore." She finished strongly, knowing that her point was coming across, yet puzzled as to why Jace was sitting across from her so calmly. "I won't let him be hurt."

"You're hiding behind your son." Jace said plainly. "You were hurt, and you are using Matthew as a wall."

Clary gaped at him.

"I understand. I really do. I would probably be doing the same thing if the situation were reversed." He looked up to meet her eyes, gold on green. "But you can't let that rule your life. Clary, Matthew is going to get hurt. It's a part of life. You cannot protect him from everything. But above all, you can't use _him_ to protect yourself."

Clary just stared at him.

…

…

…

**Yeah, I know. It's been a while. For that, I apologize. This update is a little bit longer to make up for it. I also have TWO story recommendations, rather than just one, to try to appease you. Both are of the Vampire Diaries, Klaroline persuasion, which, if you don't ship Klaroline, I don't think we can be friends. #SorryNotSorry**

**(Yes, I did just use a hashtag on Fanfiction. It's late, I got six hours of sleep last night, and I have codeine infused cough syrup for my most recent bout with bronchitis. I do apologize for any errors, I am actually very sick, and I don't have a beta, so it's all on me if there is anything wrong.)**

**Anyway, one rec is Prowl by withfireandblood, and the other is The Domestication of a Hybrid by thedeadsea. **

**In other news, follow me on tumblr! wearedustandshadows-1118 – it's nothing fancy, but I have some fun with it.**

**Peace and Love,  
>SpeakNow1118<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

Clary stared at him. And stared. And stared. Jace held her gaze, refusing to back down from what he said. He knew he was right; he knew that Clary knew that he was right. She just needed to admit it.

The only sound Clary heard was her breathing; everything else around her faded. All of her world was gold – and red. She was angry.

"How dare you?" Clary asked quietly, keeping Jace's gaze as her hands anxiously trailed around the rim of her coffee mug. "You don't know anything about me. You don't have the right to make assumptions about me based on a few months that we've spent together." She dropped her gaze now, not wanting Jace to see the unshed tears that were gathering in the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, hurrying them away, Jace none the wiser.

"I – I just," she stuttered over her words, needing to get out of there, needing to leave before she broke down and confessed everything to Jace, told him everything that she felt and had been through. She was strong, though, and she bore her griefs on her own. She had been forced to grow up at an early age, and years of experience told her that letting go and letting someone in would not end in her favor. Jace did not need to know everything about her, for he would surely run far and fast if he did. "I need to go." Clary stood abruptly, not looking Jace in the eyes again.

"Clary, wait," he sighed, reaching across the table for to grab at her wrist, begging her to say, but she ducked out of his grasp, grabbing her small bag and sunglasses and scrambling away from Jace.

"No, Clary, seriously, wait. Listen to me," Jace realized too late that she was truly leaving, and by the time he had awkwardly risen to his feet, banging his head off of the low hanging light at their table, grabbed his wallet and rushed after her, Clary was gone from the restaurant and around the corner. Jace shook his head, sighing. He returned to the booth to finish his coffee.

His pride told him to give up. His mind was telling him that a relationship with this girl would never amount to anything. Logic told him that he should quit while he was somewhat ahead, to keep his dignity and stop this ridiculous pursuance of someone who would never truly accept him. His heart and soul told him otherwise. He knew, deep down, that if he did not go after this girl with everything he had, he would regret it. Clary brought out the best in him. He had never had a third date. Yet, here he was almost six months later, still with the same girl, still buying her coffee every morning, regardless of whether or not he saw her for the rest of the day. Here he was, sitting pathetically in a coffee shop, thinking about her curls, her eyes, even her fingers with the bitten down nails.

His mind drifted to the one night that they had truly spent together. He thought of the way she had called his name; sweat dampened skin that slid over his, her face, her eyes watching him trustfully as he marked her body. He thought of how he had felt before, during and after that night; the closeness and sense of devotion he felt toward Clary. He thought about the way that she sleepily smiled at him, firmly tucked into his side, her head resting where his shoulder met his chest. Her ear lay against his heart, and she had been tracing patterns on his chest just as he traced nameless designs on her shoulder. They had not spoken, simply enjoying the moments of closeness that they had together before sleep crept over them. Jace wanted to feel that again. He would give anything to feel that again.

He raised the dark blue mug to his lips again as a troubled sigh blew from his lips. She was keeping something from him – something big. He had no clue as to what it might be, whether it was the secret of Matthew's father – who was probably a dead beat drug addict, in a gang, or a trust fund baby who couldn't be bothered to clean up after himself – or her true feelings about him, or something else entirely. He craved her; he had to know what was going on inside her mind. He needed to know – it was as if he were a heroin addict, and inside Clary's mind was the last bit on earth.

Sighing again, he downed the last of his cup and reached for Clary's leftover, rapidly cooling coffee. He tossed that back as well, standing as he swallowed the last of the bitter drink, and smoothed his designer jeans down over his legs. Pausing for a moment, Jace wondered if that lent to the problem. Was Clary turned off by his wealth and affluence? He was accustomed to women draping themselves over him after catching a whiff of his four hundred dollar cologne or giving him a once over and realizing he wore a six thousand dollar suit. Quickly though, Jace put that thought to rest. He had never treated Clary like one of those women. While he was certainly guilty of using his status and available cash to bed woman after woman, he had never treated Clary like that. His mind drifted to his mother, but with one violent shake of his head, he pushed that stray thought away. Thinking of his mother was a weakness his could not afford.

No, he decided, Clary was hiding something from him. What it was, he had no clue, but he would find out. He was determined now to get Clary back, and Jace _always_ got what he wanted. He was stubborn and unrelenting; learned traits from his father that had manifested at an early age and developed into a full blown personality. It was just a matter of time, he knew, before Clary was in his arms again, and he was counting the seconds.

…

…

…

"Oh, come here; just let me look at you." Clary's voice was a little shaky. Her six year old son was about to start his first day of school; she reserved the right to cry a little if she wanted to. She was only twenty-one, and she knew that she wanted more children (however far down the road they may come), but at the moment, her baby was growing up, and she decidedly did not like it.

"Mom," the little boy groaned, "It's not like I'm five anymore. I'm growing up. You have to accept it."

"Um, you, young man, are my son, and I don't have to accept that if I don't want to." Clary shrugged playfully. "Sorry, not sorry."

Matthew rolled his eyes at his mother's antics. "Seriously, Mom. It's not that big of a deal."

Clary scoffed. "You are starting school! You're growing up and leaving the nest. Soon you'll be married and I'll be a grandma."

Matthew looked horrified as he ran into his mother's arms, burying his face in the soft green material of her Taki's uniform. "No, I don't want to leave, Mommy, please don't make me get married!" He looked up at her, his face stricken, and Clary couldn't help but smile comfortingly at her son.

"Oh, Baby, you don't have to get married for a long, long time yet. How about not until you're forty?" She rubbed his back soothingly, trying not to laugh at Matthew, who had shown such bravado at the idea of going to school and yet had gone bone white and trembled at the idea of leaving his mother. He nodded, his face still pressed tightly to stomach.

"Okay," he said, his answer muffled against her skin.

"Alright," she said, pulling Matthew away from her to look in his eyes. "Do you have your backpack?" He nodded, and she continued down the list, waiting for confirmation before moving on to the next item on the list. "Lunch? Jacket in case it gets cool? Shoes tied? Teeth brushed?" He shook his head and scampered off to the bathroom, humming an unknown tune under his breath. Clary smiled, shaking her head as she gathered up all of his school supplies and placed them by the door. She finished tying her own shoes, preparing for the eight hour shift before her. She had enrolled Mattie in an after school art program, provided free of charge by the public school system, that would keep him for an hour and fifteen minutes after classes ended, giving her just enough time to work her eight-to-four shift, get off, and get back to his school to pick him up.

While after the first few days of school, Matthew would be taking the bus to school (she would continue to pick him up afterwards and they would walk the twelve blocks back to their apartment), but for today, she wanted to take him there herself. It would not only give her peace of mind, but she would be able to see the place where her son would be spending more than eight hours a day. Thankfully, Taki's was only about six blocks past the school. She would have to rush, but it was worth it. Matthew's head popped out of the bathroom, his mouth foamy and his face wet, to tell her that he needed only a few more seconds. Clary nodded, trying not to smile at how serious her son was being. He disappeared back into the bathroom, only to re-emerge a few moments later, grabbing her hand in one of his and his backpack in the other, tugging her toward the door in his anxiousness to get to his first day of school.

Clary just smiled and let him pull her forward, knowing that later in life, she would wish that she had prolonged the moment, but for now, she just wanted to keep that smile on her son's face.

Forty minutes later, Clary arrived at Taki's, five minutes to spare before she had to clock in. A twenty-four hour diner, Taki's was very popular and seemingly always busy. Today was no exception, and it seemed like every other table had a waiting customer sitting at it. Clary hurried to the back to secure the bag that carried her wallet, keys, and makeup. She signed in, put her hair back into the familiar braids that made her look younger than her actual twenty-one years, tied her apron, and began serving those that were waiting. She moved in a flurry, pouring coffees and clearing plates where she could, knowing that the breakfast rush would end soon. There would be a little bit of down time where the wait staff could recover, the cooks could start preparing for the next rush, and Clary would be able to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee.

While she was standing at the window pinning an order to the rack, Maia crept up behind her. "So girl," she said loudly, startling Clary, "Tell me what's up with Blondie."

"What?" Clary asked, hand over her heart, trying to get the point across that sneaking up on someone was not okay.

"The hot blonde guy that was _always_ around," Maia answered, snapping her gum as she too pinned an order and spun the wheel to get it to the irritated cook. "Then disappeared for a few days, and now is back and sitting in the booth in the corner of your section."

"What?!" Clary screeched, hands flying to her head, trying to smooth her humidity frizzed hair automatically. "Where?"

The other girl rolled her eyes. "Chill, _chica._ He's in your corner. He's been sitting there for a while. Any time someone else tries to wait on him, he always says he's waiting for you." Clary rolled her eyes and sighed when she heard this. "Kaelie's really trying to jump on him." Maia snickered. "Probably literally, too."

"Not funny." Clary glared her friend. Maia shot her a sugary sweet smile, knowing exactly how to get under Clary's skin.

"You, my dear, need to go take care of business." At the sight of Clary shaking her head, Maia rolled her eyes. "At least go take his order. You know the boss lady will throw a fit if he is sitting there not ordering anything."

"I'm mad at him." Clary pouted, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, well, put on your big girl panties and go take care of him. Not everything is always sunshine and butterflies." Maia blew her a kiss, smacking her lips teasingly at Clary before flouncing off, flirtatiously leaning in to take a group of college age boys' order. Clary shook her head and rolled her eyes, knowing that Maia would never consider actually following through on anything with anyone other than her completely devoted and hopelessly in love boyfriend, Jordan.

Taking a deep, yet not very calming, breath, Clary marched to Jace's table and looked down at him. "Can I help you?" Jace looked up at her and smirked; a devilishly handsome quirk of his lips that somehow made his eyes more golden and his unshaven stubble even more attractive.

"Coffee and coconut pancakes-"

"You don't like coconut." Clary cut him off, lowering her pad and pencil to look at him with an annoyed twitch of her lips.

"You didn't let me finish." Jace answered. Clary rolled her eyes, a quickly forming habit today, it seemed.

"Do you have a date or something?" Clary asked, shaking her head and not looking him in the eye.

"Yes, actually, with you." Jace smiled half tenderly, half patronizingly. "Those pancakes are for you. On your break." Clary looked at him, eyes wide. Jace snorted. "You look confused."

"I'm sorry, what?" Clary snapped, a hand on her hip.

"You're cure when you're mad." Jace smirked at her. When Clary raised her eyebrows are him, he smiled and shook his head. "I want you to eat with me when you're on your break." He, in turn, raised his eyebrows at her. "That's why I ordered the coconut pancakes." Seeing Clary still blankly staring at him, he swallowed and tried again. "Look, Clary. I want to talk to you again. Please," he gazed up at her, silently begging her with his eyes, "Please eat with me. Even if it's just your fifteen minute break. Have a cup of coffee if you're not hungry."

Clary sighed and nodded once. She knew she was too abrupt yesterday, but she had not been comfortable with Jace's sudden accusations. "Fine. But I don't get a break for at least another hour."

"That's fine," Jace answered, relieved, "I'll wait."

"Do you want something to eat, or are you going to come back?" Clary asked, exhaling all the words at once.

Jace glanced down at the menu and ordered the first thing he saw, not wanting to lose her attention – or her promise to sit down and talk with him. "I'll have the Hunter's Special." Clary snorted. Jace furrowed his brows at her. "What's funny?" he asked, wanting to be let in on the joke.

"That's like, huge. Aren't you supposed to be on like, a preseason diet or something?"

Jace looked taken aback. "Are you saying I need to be?" He accentuated his question by rubbing a hand over his very flat, very toned stomach. Clary narrowed her eyes and crinkled her nose at him, knowing that he knew that _she_ knew that he was in peak physical condition.

"How do you want your eggs cooked?"

"Scrambled."

"Kind of toast?"

"Wheat. Apparently, I'm meant to be watching what I eat."

"Sausage, bacon, turkey bacon, or ham?"

"Sausage, I guess. Links, please."

"It also comes with grits, plain pancakes, baked apples, and potatoes." Clary said, not understanding how boys could eat so much.

"Bring it on," Jace said with a twist of his face. "The more I have to eat, the more time I have to sit here and wait for you."

Clary shook her head and started to walk away, only to be called back by Jace's simpering, "Waitress!" Clary squared her jaw and turned around, plastering a fake, overly sweet smile on her face.

"Yes, sir?" She asked in a bubblegum tone.

"I would also like some coffee." Jace's smile was arrogant and cocky.

"Right away." She smiled that same, burnt sugar smile and walked away, mischievously giggling to herself. She turned her back, effectively blocking Jace's view of the mug, and poured about a quarter cup of sugar into the cup before filling it the rest of the way with coffee. She mixed it together until she was sure the sugar was completely dissolved. A smug smile crept over her face, and Maia noticed.

"You didn't, like, spit in that coffee, did you?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, no, of course now," Clary answered, flushing bright red, "But it is about half sugar." She was met with a blank stare. "Jace _hates_ sugar in his coffee." Maia nodded appreciatively.

"Go get him, girl." She winked and returned to another table.

Clary handed Jace the large mug with an annoyed, "Anything else?"

Jace lifted it to his lips, and it took everything Clary had to not smile. "No, no, this is-" he choked on the coffee, sputtering at the unexpected sweetness. Eyes watering, he finished his sentence. "Perfect."

"Oh, good," Clary answered. Jace set the coffee down and slid it away from himself. "Is something wrong with your coffee?" Clary asked innocently, drawing her hands behind her back.

Jace glared up at her. "Not at all."

Clary just smiled.

…

…

…

"Alright, I have fifteen minutes." Clary slid into the corner booth with her coffee (conveniently, the sugar jar had been almost empty this time) and folded her hands together. Then she paused. Jace looked a little green, and half of the food he had ordered still sat on the plate. "Jace, are you okay?"

"So… much… food." He answered weakly.

Clary laughed outright. "I told you." She said, reaching over to snag a few bites of the now rubbery eggs and the cold pancakes.

Jace shook his head, but sat up and looked at Clary. He was being slightly dramatic to make her laugh. He had missed that sound more than almost anything else.

"Look," they both started at the same time, but Clary motioned for him to go ahead, taking a sip of her coffee and another bite of pancakes.

Jace nudged the plate toward her as he started in with a deep breath. "Clary, look. I want to be with you. I can't explain why, because I've never wanted anything like that before." He looked up at her now, catching her green eyes with his. "I want you. You get me, okay?" He shook his head. "I understand you. I crave you. I can't explain it," he repeated, shrugging his shoulders as he traced the rim of his now sugarless coffee, "But I do. Don't worry," he paused to briefly interject some humor. "I don't want to say something sappy like 'You complete me,' or anything, but I'm drawn to you." He paused to breathe for a moment. "I screwed up, okay? I got scared and I reverted back to my old behavior. I can't say it won't happen again because I like to drink. I like having a few beers." Clary's eyes narrowed and a forkful of hashbrowns paused on the way to her mouth. "Hey," he continued, noticing her, "Full disclosure, okay?" Clary nodded, and he continued. "I want you to give me another chance, because now I know what I'll lose if I screw up again." His eyes sought hers, and the gold shone through, warming her and holding her hostage. "And I really don't want to screw up again."

He took a deep breath.

"I really like you, Clary."

She took a deep breath, placing her fork down.

"I like you, too." She took another deep breath and covered his hand with hers. Jace looked down at their joined hands and Clary's heart almost broke at the joyful look on his face. "And I'm sorry about how I acted yesterday and earlier." Jace looked back up at her quizzically. "When I sugared your coffee."

Jace laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "I deserved that."

Clary smiled as well, but sobered quickly. "I think you're right. I probably do use Mattie as a wall to hide behind sometimes." She was looking down at the dark brown table, not liking to admit that she perhaps was not as strong as she always pretended to be.

"Hey," Jace said softly, lifting her hand up to touch it to his cheek, "It's okay. It's okay. I shouldn't have just blurted it out like that."

Clary shook her head. "But you were right." She whispered.

Jace shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We're together again. That's all I care about, alright?" He smiled at her, his teeth white against his tan face. Clary smiled back at him, and Jace used all of his power to memorize everything about that smile; the way her eyes crinkled, her lips pulled back, the freckles scrunching together.

Clary started to stand up, but Jace frowned and attempted to pull her back down into her seat. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"Back to work," Clary said through a smile."That was my fifteen minutes."

"Are you kidding? You're a hard worker, you deserve more than that." Jace was still frowning, not appreciating that his reunion was cut short. Clary smiled and leaned for a chaste kiss. While Jace was distracted, she detached her hand, pulling back to touch his face.

"When do your classes start?" Clary asked, looking at his eyes, getting lost in them again.

"Two weeks." He grunted, trying to pull her back in, but she resisted.

Clary sighed. After his classes started again, their schedules would get crazy and they would not see each other much once again. "Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?" She asked hopefully. "We can spend some time together and," she trailed off, "Maybe you can spend the night?" She looked back up at him for a moment and he smiled.

"I would love to." He smiled.

…

…

…

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. Jace left soon after Clary's fifteen minute break was over, promising to show up to dinner that night. Clary smiled at him, still grinning as she watched him through the window, strolling down the street to wherever he had parked his car. He had been joking that he was going to the gym to work off the breakfast he had eaten, he would see her in about eight hours. (To this, she smacked his chest and rolled her eyes playfully.)

Clary picked Matthew up from the after school arts program and listened attentively while he chattered happily about his day, proudly showing off the pictures he had painted that afternoon. Clary "oohed" and "ahhed" at the appropriate times, laughing and grinning at her son before excitedly breaking the news that Jace would be eating dinner with them that night. When he had shown up, Matthew jumped into his arms, attempting to tackle Jace to the ground. Instead, Matthew had ended up with his arms around Jace's neck, hugging him fiercely.

That night, Clary cooked dinner while Jace played with Matthew. She turned away at one point, trying to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes – they were happy tears, of course – she loved seeing them together. It cut her to the quick though; she was instantly reminded of a family that she had never had, but desperately wanted.

Quite a while later, Clary, being the ever generous mother that she was, allowed Matthew to stay up for an extra half an hour, playing board games with her and Jace, who were snuggling on the couch. Jace was sprawled out; exhausted from his intense work out that day, and Clary was tucked contentedly into his side, her legs draped across his lap. Finally, Mattie was forced to put away the toys and games, brush his teeth, and climb into bed. Jace stayed put on the couch while Clary tucked her son in, returning to Jace's side after only a few moments; though from the way Jace pulled her in and furiously kissed her, she would have thought she had been gone for weeks.

"Jace," she whispered, "let's go to bed." She stood, pulling him up with her, the look on his face making her heart ache; it was full of hope and light and longing, and she never wanted his expression to change. Jace stood close to her, leaning down and ducking his head to place his lips on hers and softly kiss her until she was gasping for air. His lips trailed over her cheek, across her ear. His hands went around her waist, lifting her and wrapping her legs around his hips while his lips ghosted over her collarbone.

"Jace," she tried not to let the words come out as a moan, but was only somewhat successful, "Let's go to bed." She repeated, and this time, he complied.

…

…

…

…

…

…

**Well, there you go. Chapter 16, and they're back together. I could have dragged that out for another chapter, but I figured you could use some fluff after Clockwork Princess…**

**Speaking of, did everyone read it and how did you feel about it? Leave it in the review box, because I honestly want to know. Those are the questions for the day. =) **

**CP2 is basically the reason I wrote this today. I was so inspired by it (though I did spend a lot of the book crying) that I had to write. (Well, half that and half I wanted to see you guys' reaction to it.)**

**Drop me a line the reviews letting me know what you think of this chapter, and of my writing in general as well, please. I would like to know how I'm doing or what I can do better or differently. **

**Story Rec: ****Amuse Me**** by ****faultylilac**

**Check me out on tumblr, btw – wearedustandshadows-1118 **


	17. Chapter 17

Clary had no desire whatsoever to open her eyes. She was comfortable, pressed snugly against a firm, warm side, an arm wrapped around her back and knotted in her hair. She sighed happily, rubbing her face against Jace's bare chest, still not opening her eyes. The sheet was tucked around them, keeping the two decent, but the humid summer air had her wanting to kick it off.

He stirred underneath her, his hand tightening in her curls as turned toward her, rolling from his back to his side and pulling her flush against his body. Clary buried her face in his neck, her ear pressed to the pillow as his body covered hers. Jace tugged her leg over his hip and sighed, his breath ruffling her soft, tousled hair as he draped the arm that was not supporting her head across her waist and up her back.

"We have to get up," Clary whispered against his skin; her voice sounded strange to her ears, muffled and distorted by Jace's neck and sweat dampened hair.

Jace grunted; Clary assumed it meant 'no,' but it was getting close to six, and she had a son who needed to wake up and eat breakfast before school. She could hear the traffic outside, the sound traveling through the open window to reach her still sleepy ears. She smiled against Jace's cheek as she placed a kiss there. She attempted to detangle herself from his strong arms, but Jace just clutched her tighter to him.

"You aren't going anywhere." His voice was muted, still thick and heavy with sleep

"Jace, I have to get up. I have a son to get up and around for school." She pressed another small kiss to his cheek, nuzzling for moment before lifting her leg from its place over his hip. He moved – a lightning fast motion – and grasped her knee with the tips of his fingers, pressing her back to him.

"I just got you back." He pulled back from her face to gaze at her half-lidded eyes, lips full and still swollen from the previous night's activities. He paused for a moment, cocking his head to one side as he rolled, pushing Clary to her back and resting his body against hers. "You aren't going anywhere." He was wide awake now, no chance of going back to sleep, but there were other things to do in a bed. He placed his lips on Clary's collarbone, sucking gently to mark her as _his._ He traced little patterns against her neck, ran his nose along her cheek before lowering his mouth to hers for one, two, three chaste kisses. After a moment of this, he nudged her lips open and deepened the kiss, bracing himself above her on his forearms to leave her gasping for breath. He took a cue from that and trailed back over her slim neck, placing individual kisses in a wobbly line to where her collarbone met her neck. His fingers played with the hem of her (really his) shirt before sliding underneath to span her soft belly.

"Jace," she grunted, pushing him off of her body and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, "I really do have to get up." She turned back towards him, smirking at his shocked face, lying on the flat of his back, arms in the air as if to ask what the hell she was doing. "I have to get Mattie up for school and fed." She leaned back over to press a very fast kiss to his forehead, escaping before he could pull her down again. "I'm sure that you have things to do today too."

"Oh, I've got things _to do._" Jace answered darkly, flopping back to the bed and rubbing his hands over his eyes wearily.

"Hah," Clary said sarcastically. "I get it."

"Oh, you'll _get it._" Jace answered under his breath, but she still heard, throwing an exasperated look over her shoulder at him.

"Well, one of us has to be an adult, bucko." She retorted, pulling Jace's shirt over her head and tossing it back to him, walking to her closet in only her unflattering white cotton bra and underwear. From the look on Jace's face though, you would have thought that she was a Victoria's Secret model that was working a private show for him and him alone. She was all of a sudden very shy, backing away with a small blush that crept over her cheeks. She bumped into the closet door, still trying to shy away from the intense look on Jace's face as he stood, indecent save for the black boxer briefs that hid his hips from her view, and quietly, powerfully stalked toward her.

"That blush is incredibly sexy on you, Clarissa Fray." His voice was soft, vaguely threatening, like a predator. She froze before him, still fetched up against the wall as Jace's arms went to either side of her head and he leaned in, his face only a breath away from hers. He came closer, touching the tip of his nose to hers before inclining his head towards her and peering up at her from beneath his eyelashes. Clary's eyes were wide, her lip caught between her teeth.

Jace pressed his forehead against hers and groaned, caressing the back of her head with his finger tips, raising goosebumps across her skin that spread like fire. "You can't bite your lips like that if you don't want me to do something about it, Clary." She released her grip on her lip and tilted her head back against the door, pushing his hand away from her face, trying like anything to regain her bearings.

"Jace," she whispered as he leaned his forehead against her shoulder, breathing hard. "Stop. You have to go. I need to get ready and go to work." She spoke slowly, determinedly, not allowing him to bully her into another round. She had to have her priorities straight. "You can come back tonight, but if you aren't going to stop, you have to leave."

Jace lifted his head, looked in her eyes, and smiled tiredly. "You have no idea what you do to me." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back and slipping into his clothes from last night. "Get in the shower. I'll go get some breakfast for us."

"Jace," she caught his attention, finding her voice only a moment before he walked out. He turned, lifting his eyebrows in attention to her, and she finished her thought: "You're wrong. You have no idea what you do to _me._"

Jace's small smile warmed her as he shook his head. "No, Clary. You're wrong." With that, he slipped from the room, leaving no room for argument.

Clary shook her head, trying to retain some sort of sanity, some sort of clarity, as she entered her closet and rifled through, trying to find the clean Taki's uniform that she knew was in there somewhere, but being unable to properly focus on what she was doing, despite the scant amount of clothing she had. Mechanically, she reached for a towel, holding it tight to her chest.

Every move she made for the next fifteen minutes was robotic; she could not move freely as she waited for the heat in her body to cool. Open bathroom door. Remove clothes. Turn on shower. Step in.

Out of curiosity, she twisted the knob to the right, gasping at the sudden river of icy water that coursed over her, snapping her back to reality and forcing her mind to clarity. Shivering violently, she yanked at the knob one more time, allowing the warm water to return and cascade over her, rinsing the built up sweat and salt from her body. She could focus on the tasks at hand now, the fog of _Jace_ was lifted from her, and she squirted the shampoo into her hand and massaged it through her hair, cleansing inch by inch.

…

…

…

Jace blew a long, slow breath from his lips, pushing his hands deep in his pockets as he walked down the steps and through the already busy streets of Brooklyn.

_My kingdom for an open bodega, _he thought to himself. He figured he would just get a few bagels and some coffee, return to Clary's apartment, and convince her to blow off work and stay home with him, where he had a few ideas of how they could pass the day. Thankfully, after only a few minutes of walking, he found a street cart that was open for business. Four bagels, two coffees, and ten dollars later, Jace was headed back towards Clary's apartment.

Clary was thankful for the bagels; it saved her the headache of having to prepare breakfast at such a late hour, but was not thankful enough to stay home from work with Jace.

("Jace, I have to go to work. I need money.")

("I'll buy whatever you need. Just stay home with me!")

"That's not how she rolls, Jace!" Matthew had giggled, causing the adults to laugh along with him.

So finally, Clary and Jace started walking towards the school, dropping Matt off with a hug and a kiss from Clary before continuing on to Taki's. Jace reached out and grabbed Clary's hand, squeezing lightly, playing with her fingers, anything to drive her crazy.

"Jace," she warned, "I really can't stay." Jace shot her an innocent look, to which she replied, "Mattie tries that look all the time." She stretched up, reaching for his cheek with her lips, "It doesn't work."

Jace looked at her a grumbled under his breath. They were almost to the diner, which means that he would have to release her, something he was not looking forward to. "So, tonight," he started and trailed off, wanting to know what Clary thought.

"So, tonight," she copied the way he spoke, turning towards him, grabbing his arms and pulling him up against her as she leaned against the wall. Jace, surprised by the sudden outburst, pushed closer to her, peppering kisses along her cheek and forehead.

"And what are your plans, Miss Fray?" Jace asked, lingering for a moment at her temple.

"Hmm, dinner and a movie at my place? Mattie can go to bed a little early," she trailed off suggestively, sliding her hands up Jace's arms to his shoulders.

"Sounds perfect." He whispered before pressing his lips to hers.

"And now," Clary groaned around Jace's lips, "I have to go to work."

"Nope," Jace whispered, giving her another kiss.

"Yep," she said, making no move to get away from him.

"Nope."

"Yes."

"Don't make me pull out the big guns, Fray."

"Don't make _me_ pull out the big guns." She deadpanned, and he groaned as he released her.

"Fine." He stepped back so Clary could collect herself. "What time do you get off? I'll pick you up."

"Four. I have to pick Mattie up at four-fifteen from his after school program, and then the rest of the day is yours."

"Perfect. I'll see you then." Jace leaned in, wrapping his long fingers around the back of her neck to pull her close enough to kiss her forehead again. "Bye."

"Bye, Jace."

He smiled as she turned to walk into the diner and he turned to walk back towards her apartment and his car. He walked quickly, wanting to get back and get his car so that he could go home, shower, and get some work done before he picked Clary up again at four. He slid past the door of his Aston Martin, turning the key over with a satisfactory purr before he raced off to the apartment he shared with Alec.

It took longer than he would have liked, what with the awful morning traffic, so his already foul mood from leaving Clary was compounded. Alec's behavior did not help at all either. When he swung the door of the apartment open, Alec was inside speaking on the phone, and upon seeing Jace, jumped and immediately began speaking in a hushed, conspiratory tone. He hung up quickly and turned to face his friend.

"What happened to you?" Jace asked, his voice accusatory as he folded his arms over his chest and looked at Alec.

"Nothing," Alec was terse. "Why?"

"You look like death warmed over. That's why." Jace retorted

"Well, I'm not, so," Alec trailed off, but Jace just cocked an eyebrow at him. Alec rolled his eyes, and throwing his arms in the air (causing him to turn a little bit greener in the process) nearly shouted, "Fine, I'm a little hungover. So freaking what?" Alec turned to grab a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge, grunting in pain when bending over caused what felt like a railroad spike being pounded into his head. "You come home hungover all the time."

"Nothing's wrong with being hungover," Jace said debonairly waving a hand, "I'm just curious about the hickies on your neck, that's all." Alec jumped, a guilty look coming over his face as he clapped a hand over his neck. "And the fact that you know exactly where I'm talking about just proves my point." Jace sauntered over, a cocky expression on his face as he peeled Alec's hand away. "Man, she really did a number on your neck there."

Alec flushed a little deeper, not willing to say anything.

"So," Jace reached around his friend to grab a bottle of water before leaning back against the countertop. "Who is she?"

"Nobody you know." Alec muttered, attempting to walk away and escape.

"I know a lot of people." Jace smiled, stepping in front of the other boy.

"Not this person, okay, Jace? Trust me." Alec sidestepped, but Jace blocked him again.

"I really might."

"Jace, back the hell up, okay? This is none of your damn business. Get out of my face. It's not like you aren't a man whore anyway."Alec knew that he was crossing a line, but in that single moment, he didn't care. He wanted to go take a shower, lie down, drink some hangover cures, and try not to throw up.

Jace feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch, brother. That stings." Alec shoved him out of the way, ignoring Jace's protestations until he grabbed his arm. "What is your problem?"

"Right now, it's you, Jace. You come in here acting all high and mighty when you were out with some random girl, who by the way, you probably won't remember in the morning. I'm allowed to go out too, you know. I know how to have fun. I'm allowed to cut loose every now and then, and I don't appreciate you acting like it's some huge deal because I get drunk and hook up with somebody." Alec knew that a big fight was about to boil over – he had called that girl that Jace was dating a slut, and the moment he said it, he knew that Jace would not react kindly. He saw a flash in Jace's golden eyes and wait for the hammer to fall.

"Why do you keep saying that about Clary?" Jace asked, a scary quietness sinking through his voice.

Alec already regretted saying it. He knew that both of them were in disagreeable moods and that this was their tempers talking. He would regret it, but he was too fired up, too deeply rooted in the idea that "Clace," as his sister had deemed them, was a bad idea. So he went ahead with the hateful words that were at the tip of his tongue.

"You heard me." Alec said slowly, looking up from the floor to meet Jace's eyes.

"No, I don't think that I did. Because _Clary_ is not a slut. And you know that. And you know better than to insult her in my presence." Jace's voice was deadly.

"Well, if she's not a slut, how did she have a kid at, what, fifteen?" Alec raised his arms from his sides. "I bet you don't even know." Alec's pointer finger was in Jace's face now, "I bet she didn't tell you because she probably doesn't even know who the damn father is!" Alec's voice was raised, and he saw the look of anger, hurt, and doubt leap across Jace's face before determination took its place. Alec knew that look. It was the look that Jace got right before he broke his arm when they were ten. It was the look that nearly got them arrested in a bar when they were seventeen. It was not a look that you _ever_ wanted directed at you.

Jace took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, and tried counting to ten. It didn't work. He had never really believed that one could see red, but in that moment, his vision was scarlet. "I told you. Do not ever speak about her like that again." Jace's face was terrifying – full of rage and betrayal and hurt – and Alec had caused it. "You know _nothing_ about her. _Nothing._" Jace hissed. "Do not ever let me hear you talk about her that way again. She is not some random hook up."

With that said, Jace pushed past Alec and stalked to his room, shaking his head slightly. He repeated softly, "She's not some random hookup."

Alec took a step toward him, wanting Jace to see his side. "Jace, she doesn't make sense. Think it through." With that, he picked up his drink and sulked away into his bedroom, hurt and anger on his face. Jace just stared blankly at Alec, looking over his shoulder, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Jace took another deep breath and rubbed his hands over his eyes, closing the door to his room with a ferocious kick. Alec was no romantic, this much was true, but didn't he at least respect Jace enough to respect Clary? Jace jerked the drawers of his dresser open, grabbing clothes before crossing to the ensuite bathroom to shower. He scrubbed at the salt and sweat that had built up on his body from the heat of the last months of summer, washed his hair with the lemony shampoo and stepped out, crossing to the mirror to look at himself.

He stared hard, observing his body in a way that he really had not before. The golden hair, darkened and curling from the water. Golden eyes, hooded with fatigue and longing and anger. Hard, muscled torso, the result of years of training and hard work. Long, lean legs that could run miles and miles. He sighed and reached for a towel to dry himself.

…

…

…

Jace sought solace at Isabelle's. He knocked once, but didn't wait for a reply before entering the rather large apartment that Robert and Maryse had purchased for her. She was inside, ear buds in, running on the treadmill. She threw a nod at Jace when she saw him, calling loudly to him over the noise in her ears, "Almost done. Just a sec." She was panting hard; Jace wondered how many miles she had run already.

It was only a few minutes until she was done, but Jace entertained himself by raiding her fridge, grabbing a bottle of pineapple juice for himself and a fancy, imported bottle of coconut water for Isabelle, tossing it to her and she slowed and stepped down. Her body was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and she smiled appreciatively at him before twisting the cap off and daintily swallowing some. "What's up?" She asked, replacing the cap and pulling a chair from the kitchen so as not to damage the fine French sofa in her living room.

"I need to ask you something," Jace answer hesitantly, playing the bottle in his hands and jiggling his leg anxiously."

"Shoot."

"What do you think about Clary?"

"She's nice enough, I guess. I've only met her a few times." She shrugged, but continued, "But we both know that isn't what you're really trying to ask me."

"Well, quit screwing around and just tell me the truth." Jace was cranky now, and he spat the words at her.

"Jace," Isabelle stated his name gently, not a quality oft associated with her, "You don't want to hear the truth."

"You don't think we should be together either." Jace's voice was hurt.

"I think that people like us don't marry people like her." Izzy was careful, not wanting to hurt him, but wanting to get her point across.

"I don't want to _marry _her, Iz." Jace laughed, "I want to date her."

"Jace," she replied skeptically, "You don't date. You sleep around."

"What is this ridiculous obsession that you and your brother share with my sex life?"

"What is this ridiculous obsession that you have with yourself?" Isabelle replied snarkily, raising her eyebrows at her "brother."

"Look, I like Clary. I like her a lot." Jace stood, slipping the bottle of juice into the pocket of his jeans before walking towards the door, "And you and Alec don't get a say in that. Thanks for the juice."

"Jace, you can deny it all you want, but you're in love with that girl, and it scares you. You don't quite want an out," Isabelle tossed at him before standing and pulling her shirt over her head as she walked to her bathroom, "But you're too scared to give any more commitment. It's why you came here, and it's why you went to Alec and asked us what we think. Make up your own damn mind. I'm not going to do it for you, but get it done before you get their hopes up and break their hearts." Jace had paused at the door, averting his eyes as Isabelle stripped her clothes off to shower, and listened to her words. He scoffed, but something inside of his head nagged and nagged as he drove to Taki's for lunch.

…

…

…

"Well this is a pleasant surprise," Clary said, her face alight when Jace sat in the corner booth of her section. Maia grunted at her questioningly. "My boyfriend came in for lunch." Clary smiled, the dimples in her freckled cheeks growing larger as she attached the order slip to the rotating string and walked out of the kitchen to get his order. Jace smirked when he saw her walking towards him, curly red hair swinging in the braids she normally wore.

"Hey, babe."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but,"

Jace grabbed her wrist and tugged her down for a kiss. Clary recovered after a second and pulled away, scolding him lightly with her eyes. "I'm not on break," she said, but winking, added, "Save it for tonight."

"I just wanted to see you again," Jace answered, sighing as she pulled away. "Didn't want to wait."

Clary smiled at him. "What would you like to eat?"

"Coffee and surprise me." Jace looked a little glum, his voice flat and face fallen.

"Are you okay?" Clary asked, reaching out to touch his cheek. He leaned into her touch, turning his head to kiss her palm.

"I'm fine, just tired." Jace looked up at her and smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Clary was concerned, but let it slide until she actually had the time to devote to talking with him. Stealing a glance back toward the kitchen and not seeing the boss-lady, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, lingering for a moment.

"Maybe I can roll some silverware while you eat; we aren't that busy." She said as she straightened, smoothing Jace's blonde curls back from his face; he smiled a small grin, his lips pulling up and showing his white teeth in a genuine smile that warmed Clary all over.

"I'd like that," he answered. "I just want to be around you." He whispered as she walked away, his golden eyes burning a hole in her back with intensity and passion that scared him a little. "I'd like that a lot."

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**And that is Chapter 17. About thirteen more to go. Let me know what you think in that wonderful little review box. **

**Also, you all should stalk me on tumblr – wearedustandshadows-1118. I'm not above begging, clearly : )**

**Also, because I'm feeling slightly angsty because most of the fics I'm reading are ending, I would absolutely love if you would recommend a story for me to read, instead of the other way around. *winky face***

**Also, I'm taking requests for one-shots; anything you like; I'm open to anything, and I want to try to test myself a little bit. Preferably in the TMI, TID, Klaroline, Avatar: The Last Airbender, or Korra fandoms. I'll even take Twilight… But if I've read or watched it, I'll attempt writing it, so leave it in any of my many boxes.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Fair warning, parts of this chapter get a little heated. Nothing rated M, but it is T for a reason. **

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Clary sat across from Jace at the small table in the corner of Taki's, rolling together a fork, a spoon, and a knife into one neat package. She glanced across to Jace, who, in the act of lifting a fork full of chicken to his lips, was gazing non-descriptly out the window and across the street. They hadn't spoken much, troubling Clary. It was mid-afternoon, only two tables were filled, and Maia, who hated rolling silverware, had gladly taken the tables if Clary would take the undesirable task. She did of course, because it meant that she could sit with Jace.

"Jace," she started hesitantly, wrapping the clean, white napkin around the cloudy silverware and finishing it with a piece of the maroon wrapping tape. "Are you alright?"

Jace's eyes snapped to her, his mouth stilled, and his eyebrow furrowed. Swallowing, he answered, "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know," Clary replied, keeping her eyes down as she reached for another pairing of silverware. "You've just been really quiet. I was wondering if everything's," she rolled the utensils quickly, and lamely finished, "okay." She looked up to meet his eyes finally.

Jace just smiled and chuckled once. "I'm fine, I promise." He speared another forkful of chicken, but before lifting it to his lips, he added, "I argued with Alec." He popped the food in his mouth and chewed hard, swallowing too soon. He was still upset, but Clary did not need to know that.

Reaching again for a fork, Clary looked up at him. "What about?" She couldn't help herself, motherly instinct kicked in almost anytime someone approached her with a problem.

"Nothing important." Jace's voice tightened, and immediately, she felt as though they were regressing to the moody and dark Jace that only appeared before a drinking binge. So, she followed her own logic and backed off.

"Okay," she said, filling the silence.

Jace sat back, sighing heavily, and crossed his arms as he looked out the window again. "Look, I just don't want to involve you, okay? It's ugly and I don't want you to get involved." His golden eyes came back to hers, imploring her to understand. She looked at him silently, unfathomably.

"I understand." Her voice was soft, ghosts of the past filling her mind. She looked down and rolled another set of silverware, breathing through her nose, calming down slowly.

Jace reached out and softly touched the back of her hand. "Thank you." He leaned forward to kiss her temple, but she pulled back, shaking her head.

"Not while I'm at work." Jace fell back to his seat, mouth quirking downwards.

"Probably a good idea. You know what happens when we start kissing."

Clary looked up at him sharply, quirking an eyebrow. "Oh, do I?"

"Yeah," Jace glanced down and looked up at her through his long, golden eyelashes. "We start kissing, hands start traveling, clothes start falling off," he trailed off as he saucily stabbed another bite of chicken and closed his mouth around. "Need I go on?" he mumbled around the food, twirling his fork in the air.

"That's mighty confident of you," Clary responded, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure." She smirked at Jace's half-confused, half-puppy dog face and finished off another set of silverware. The repetitiveness of the action helped her to concentrate on anything, anything else but Jace's mouth. It was difficult.

"Well, we'll just see tonight then, won't we?" Jace settled back in his seat, a smile on his face that bore an uncanny resemblance to a cat that caught the canary. He thought that he had Clary in a corner, but he had only sparked her competitiveness. She smiled sweetly back at him.

"I guess we will, won't we?" Clary cast her eyes downward and leaned forward, folding her hands together and resting them on the table. "I bet that I can drive you crazier than you can drive me." She whispered conspiratorially, watching as Jace's eyes got wider and wider.

He leaned forward to meet her gaze. "I'll let you in on a little secret, little girl." He inclined his head toward her even more. "You're probably right." He voice was breathy, and it made Clary a little dizzy. She pulled back, her mind cloudy with Jace, and quickly regained her bearings.

"Well, as long as that's clear." She cleared her throat and smirked, hiding her hands beneath the table.

"That doesn't mean" Jace mimicked her posture, down to the hidden hands, "that I won't try my very absolute hardest though. In fact, I would be_ very_ prepared for a_ very _long night. Maybe even an afternoon." His voice was cocky, sure of himself. Clary flushed, but met his gaze, enjoying the butterflies in her stomach that came from being with Jace.

"Why, Jace, are you flirting with me?" she simpered.

"Always," he answered. "I rather like the blush that you get when I do." He forked another bite, holding it out to her lips, which she accepted with a small smile. "It turns me on. I start imagining all kinds of dirty things to do to you, how you say my name, well, moan it, really, and -" he was cut off when Clary choked on the bite he had just fed her and the sudden, sharp pain in his shin where she kicked him. "You okay, Babe?" His voice was innocent as he reached down to rub the throbbing area on his leg.

"You're a jerk," she replied, swiping his coffee and swallowing several sips in an attempt to stop coughing.

"Ouch. You've got a really nice kick on you. You should have played soccer in high school." Jace winced as he sat upright again, but saw an opportunity and took it. "Of course, I do like it when you mark me up."

Clary shot a warning glance at him, all narrowed eyes and pursed lips, and consented. "Stop. We're in public." She glanced around, glad that the few patrons in the diner hadn't heard their little war. Jace followed suit, looking around to make sure that no one was watching before he reached down, under the table, and grabbed Clary's ankle. She just stared at him as he drew her leg up, cradling it in his lap and stroking her silky shin. While his thumb slid along the smooth skin, his fingers gently massaged her calf, creating a tight coil in her stomach. She inhaled very slowly, inconspicuously tugging the table cloth farther to the side, hiding the somewhat sordid scene playing out underneath the table.

His hands shifted up toward her knee, softly sliding over her shin before wrapping around her slightly bent knee to stroke the soft, ticklish skin at the back of the joint. His thumb rotated over her knee cap, gentle and supple. His hand moved again, twitching upward to her thigh…

"Okay, okay." Clary half-gasped, looking around again at the diner's customers, oblivious to the almost comatose girl and devilish boy in the corner. "You win." She pouted and crossed her arms, taking in Jace's smug form.

Jace shrugged, reaching for his coffee. "What can I say? I'm good."

"Yeah, yeah. Well Mr. Panty-dropper," Clary responded with no small amount of fire, "You better follow through later." Jace laughed once, and smirked. She gathered all of the rolled cutlery into one tub, stacking the three empty ones inside. She slid out of the booth, picking them up in one hand and clearing Jace's dirty plate with the other. "I have to get back to my real life now." She started to walk away as Jace collected his things, but paused and leaned over next to his ear. "But tonight, it's my turn." She flicked the shell of Jace's ear with her tongue, straightened and flounced away. Jace attempted to recover, hunching over the table for a moment while he feigned draining his coffee cup. He stood, slipping his wallet into his back pocket and looked across the room to where Clary stood giggling with the other waitress while they put away the silverware. He sighed happily, caught her eye, and dropped a twenty on the table to clear his bill before walking out into the still humid August night.

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Jace felt bad for almost undressing Clary in the middle of the work day, so that night, he showed up with an apology pizza. Half plain, half pepperoni, extra cheese. He picked up a few bottles of Coke, figuring that he may as well completely disregard the strict dieting plan that the nutritionist for the basketball team had come up with; when he appeared at the front door of her apartment, eyes wide and golden, Clary sighed, smiled, and opened the door even wider to allow him through.

"Don't let Matthew see that-"

"Coke!" a small voice traveled from the couch, whose springs creaked and moaned when the small boy jumped in excitement when he saw the usually forbidden beverage.

"Soda," she finished lamely.

"Mommy, please, please, please, can I have just a little bit? Please! I've been really good lately. Please, I think I deserve it. Please?" Matthew scrambled over to her, tugging the end of her shirt and unleashing the full effect of his eyes on her. His words poured out, tumbling over one another in an attempt to get his mother to see his point.

Clary looked up at Jace accusingly, but when she saw the same look in Jace's eyes, she relented, throwing her hands in the air. "Fine." Mattie jumped and clapped his hands, turning to high five Jace, but Clary raised one finger at him sternly, gaining his attention one more time. "You may have half of a glass and that is all." Her son nodded, knowing that this compromise was a true blessing, as he was not usually allowed to have soda, and especially not on a school night.

Jace wrapped a hand around the back of Clary's neck, tugging her in to kiss her forehead. "Sorry, Sweetheart." However, the tug of his lips led Clary to believe that his apology was insincere.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, moving around the celebrating boys to the kitchen to set out the plates and glasses. "I mean, I would have thought you'd want him to go to sleep sooner rather than later, based on our conversation earlier…" Clary spoke under her breath, rolling her eyes. She paused in the kitchen, arms above her head as she rummaged through the cabinets, looking for plastic plates and cups she used when they did not eat at the table, content to eat on the couch while they watched television. She looked at Jace and Matthew, who were fake-fighting over the white plastic separator that held the lid of the cardboard box away from the gooey cheese of the pie, and she smiled. A real, true smile that warmed her all the way through. She didn't really know what this feeling was, but she liked it. She would be happy to have this feeling never end.

A little while later, the three of them were lounging in the living room, bellies full and content. Clary was sitting in Jace's lap, her head lolling against his shoulder while Matthew mimicked her posture in hers. His eyes were drooping, his hand tucked snugly inside hers. Again, Clary was happy; her lips curved in a smile against Jace's neck as his hand came to wrap around her free one. He moved his lips to her; Clary tilted her head closer as he whispered, "Let's spend Saturday together, just us. Isabelle can watch Matt." His breath tickled her cheek and she closed her eyes for a moment, content.

Clary nodded, absentmindedly glancing down to see that her son had fallen completely asleep. "Let me put him to bed and we'll talk," She was cut off when Jace lifted both she and Matthew up, carrying them bridal style into the little boy's bedroom. She was torn, clutching her son to her chest with one arm and frantically wrapping the other around Jace's neck to keep from tumbling to the ground.

Jace chuckled and kissed her temple, keeping his lips there as he murmured, "Don't worry. I won't drop you."

"Promise?" Clary asked, a hint of coquettishness creeping into her voice.

"Promise," Jace whispered back, a serious tone sneaking into his voice. Clary looked up at him, all huge green eyes and freckles, and smiled. Something about the way her lips curved, creating dimples in her cheeks and crinkles in the corner of her eyes made Jace kiss her. It wasn't an inferno of passion, it wasn't even really a burn, but it was perfect. Clary was holding Matthew, Jace was holding both of them, and the three were somehow interconnected and meshed together in that one moment, and for once, once in a very long time, he genuinely felt as though he belonged. He felt right, whole, completed.

He gently set Clary down on Matthew's bed and stepped back to allow her the room to remove his t-shirt and socks, leaving him in the mesh-like material of his shorts to sleep in. Clary smoothed his hair back, kissed his forehead and stepped back. She crossed her arms and smiled lovingly at her son before turning to look at Jace, who was now leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed as well, a half-smirk, half-sad face present on his tanned face. He stretched his hand out, reaching for her, and she took it.

Jace pulled Clary from the little boy's room and into her own, letting go of her hand only to tug his shirt over his head. He turned to her, placing his hands over her hips and pulled Clary flush to him, touching his lips to hers. He was soft at first, almost unsure, but her hands came to his shoulders, and he lowered himself to a sitting position on the bed. He pulled Clary with him, gently arranging her so that she stood between his knees. She, for once, now had to lower her head to his, rather than the other way around. They kissed and kissed and kissed, Clary's arms quickly wrapping around Jace's neck, his hands on her ribs to pull her closer.

When she pushed on Jace's chest, he broke the kiss to lean back, guiding Clary down to cover his body with hers. She drew back for a moment to glance at Jace, flicking her eyes down to his lips, swollen and pink before looking back to his eyes and pressing against him once more.

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The next three days passed by relatively uneventfully. Jace didn't spend anymore nights at Clary's apartment.

"_Jace, you need to focus on classes."_

"_Yes, Jace, of course I want you here, but I would really prefer to not have to share my shower when I'm running late."_

Many more instances like this occurred. Clary had jokingly kicked Jace out of her apartment until the weekend, citing the fact that she already had one child, she didn't need another one. "You two only egg each other on! It's awful!" She was laughing while she said this, though, so Jace didn't take too much offense. By the time that the weekend finally came around, nevertheless, both of them were missing each other dearly.

However, after a particularly rough day at the diner – rude customers, burnt food, absent staff – Clary was thoroughly pissed off. By the time she picked Matthew up from his after school art program, she was so fed up that she snapped at her son. "Matthew, this is not the time. You need to just be quiet for a while until I say so."

He looked down at the ground, perplexed and slightly guilty, not knowing if he had done something wrong. "Okay. I'm sorry, Mommy." Clary reached down, still stonily silent, and snatched up his hand, holding tightly so as not to lose him in the rough crowds.

They walked in silence, moving in a straight line, save for when the unyielding traffic of people forced them to duck and dodge. Mattie looked up at his mother, nearing the point of frustrated tears at his bewilderment at her actions. Clary looked down at him, saw his anger and upsetment at her treatment of him, and vowed to apologize later. She knew that if she spoke now, it would be wrathful and an outpouring of bottled up irritation from a truly horrible day. Finally, they arrived at home.

"Just, go to your room, okay? That's probably the safest place for you right now." Clary sighed, rubbing one hand wearily over her eyes. "Mommy will come in later to talk to you." Matthew looked at her solemnly, gave her a hard and fast hug, and ran into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Clary collapsed in a chair, breathing out in a sudden gust of equal parts discouraged and aggravated emotion. Shoes were kicked off frustratedly. She slammed the coffee pot around in an attempt to release some of her pent up exasperation. She was so caught up in the whirlwind of herself that she didn't notice the door open and the man striding in.

"You know, I've never much liked that coffee pot. It brews too strong."

Clary started and turned, taking in the sight of Jace leaning against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded tight to his chest. His head was cocked to the side, giving him an air of curiosity,

"I didn't realize that my walls needed holding up." She sniped. After a moment, she added, "And the coffee pot makes good coffee. Did you ever consider the fact that you might drink it wrong?"

Jace raised an eyebrow at her. "Sarcasm, here," he made a line in the air with a finger, "Hostility here," raising his arm about a foot above the last invisible mark, he made another. "You, here." He stretched his arm towards the ceiling, revealing a thin strip of flat, tan skin where the hem of his shirt would have met his jeans. Clary tried hard to avert her eyes, instead boring into his golden ones with her arms crossed over her chest. She picked up the unsubtle hint he was giving her that she had crossed the line between wit and aggression, but once again, she did not care.

"Do I look amused?"

"Not at all, Red."

Clary started; a memory flashed in front of her eyes and she blinked back, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she glared at him. "Don't call me that."

Jace raised his eyebrows, sighing as he recrossed his arms. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." Clary turned from him to fill the coffee pot with water and add the grounds, needing the caffeine that the coffee promised.

"Clary," Jace started, sidling up behind her to wrap two strong arms around her waist, "You're my girlfriend. Of course I worry."

"Well, don't." Clary was terse, not wanting to give anything away.

"Well, I do."

"Whatever." She detangled herself and moved around him to the cupboard to retrieve a coffee mug.

"Alright, so you're not happy. About what," Jace observed as he pulled a chair from the table and settled down into it, "I don't know."

"I'm fine," Clary spat back.

"She says as she snaps at me."

Clary whirled to face him. "Jace, keep in mind that you have not yet seen my temper reach its full height."

"But I have a feeling I'm about to?" Jace questioned with a smirk.

"Jace, go away." Clary turned back to the coffeepot, but only to escape his stare. She could already feel the angry, frustrated tears welling behind her eyes from the abuse she was giving to the two most important people in her life. She abruptly turned and fled to her bedroom, slamming the door and flopping face down on the bed. Only a few seconds later, she heard the door open and felt the bed dip with the added weight as Jace crawled in next to her.

"Nope." He scooched closer, leaning towards her in just the slightest way. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong, but you need to blow off some steam." He moved closer, pressing his chest to her back. Though she didn't move any closer, she didn't move away either. "Come out with me tonight. One of my teammates is throwing a back to school party." He encircled her waist, resting his chin on top of her head. "There'll be music, dancing… Lots of free booze." His voice was honeyed, drawing out each word in a delightfully enticing manner.

"And what would I do with my son?" Clary asked, relenting just a little as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"What about the family downstairs with the kid his age?"

"I guess," Clary trailed off, not wanting to send her son off. Though Matthew was friends with the boy downstairs, they were not close enough that Clary felt comfortable asking the neighbors to watch Matthew, potentially for the whole night.

"Ask them," Jace's lips were right by her ear, grazing the shell of it with whispered words.

"And I don't really have anything to wear to a college party." Clary started to pull away from him again, but he caught her arms and pulled her back to his chest.

"I'll call Isabelle. She _lives_ for this sort of thing."

"Jace, I don't know, I don't-"

She was cut off when Jace's hands wrapped around her hips and his mouth went to her neck, hot and delicious on her skin. He trailed open mouthed kisses along her shoulder as his hands ravaged her, saying, "Oh, come on. I want to show off my sexy," A kiss, "Gorgeous," another kiss, "Beautiful," a pinch on her hip paired with a kiss, "Incredible girlfriend to my teammates. I want to see them drool, and then I want to come home and," His voice dropped and his lips were pressed against her ear. Clary's eyes widened as he murmured _exactly_ what he wanted to do with her, sparing no small detail. A blush flamed over her cheeks. "You know what that blush does to me, Little Girl." He nipped at her skin.

"Don't call me Little Girl," she muttered back at him, but was ultimately too distracted to truly scold him. "But fine. You win. Stay here with Mattie until I get back from downstairs." This time, she really did unravel his arms from her waist, detaching his smiling lips from her neck.

She made the trek downstairs, managing to keep her footing, despite the intense heat running through her body. Sheepishly, she asked the kind, dark-haired woman who answered the door if she would watch Matthew. The lady happily obliged, offering to feed him dinner and keep him overnight, citing the fact that she hoped the boys would become good friends, as Henry needed to get out of the house more. Clary smiled and nodded, appreciative of the woman's cooperation.

When she managed to get away and back upstairs, Jace was lounging on the couch with Matthew, seemingly content to watch SpongeBob. "I called Izzy. She's going to come over and take care of you." Matt sat up from his place on Jace's lap and peek his head bashfully over the top of the couch.

"Come here, buddy," Clary said to her son as she walked into her room. As soon as Matthew scurried through the door, she closed it tight behind him. Flopping back on the bed, she sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled at you today, bud. I wasn't mad at you, okay?"

He nodded solemnly, and Clary's heart swelled. "It's okay, Mommy." He curled up on the bed next to her, wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.

"Listen, Jace and I are going to go out tonight, and you're going to spend the night downstairs at Henry's, alright?"

"A sleepover? Can I have soda?" Clary's temper was all but in the past as the young boy focused instead on the potential of being allowed sugary drinks in the very near future.

"If Henry's mom is willing to let you have it, then you may drink it." Clary conceded with a smile. "Now go pack a toothbrush and some jammies."

Matthew was out the door almost before Clary could blink, and Jace strode in, taking Mattie's place on the bed next to Clary. He put his hand on her stomach, moving his thumb back and forth in soothing circles.

"Isabelle will be here in a little bit. She said she's been waiting for this moment since she first saw your curls." Jace was grinning at her, his cheek propped on his hand.

"The things I do for you," Clary groused.

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Four and a half hours, three cups of coffee, twenty-three bobby pins, six outfit changes, six angry knocks (actually impatient pounding) and what felt like four pounds of makeup later, Clary emerged from her room perfectly coiffed and made up. Her hair was in an elaborate twist with tendrils that framed her face. Black eyeliner was etched across her eyes, making the green irises appear piercing and sharp. Bronzer and blush was swiped across her nose and cheekbones, giving her skin an airbrushed quality. She wore a black dress (though she, in all her modesty, would hardly call that scrap of fabric a dress) that bore a shimmering green pattern through it. Paired with tights and sky high heels, she was, very simply, hot.

Jace made sure to let her know exactly what he thought of her. When he stood from the couch and clicked off the television, his face was pulled in opposite directions. Eyebrows arched, jaw slack. Isabelle looked smug. "My job is done; go be very, very naughty." She sniffed. "I'll be there, fashionably late, of course." With that, she flounced from the room.

"Wow," Jace murmured in her ear appreciatively. "Just, wow. Let's stay in." His hands were all over her.

"I just spent four hours getting primped and prodded. We're going out." Clary smiled, but it was far from innocent. She pulled back and walked to the table to gather her things into a purse. Suddenly, nervousness came over her. "I don't, I don't even know what to bring to a party." She turned to face him suddenly, wobbling on the spiky heels Isabelle had forced onto her feet. "What should I take to a party?"

Jace smiled indulgently, "Nothing. You don't need to bring anything but your key. I've got money and my phone. That's all you need." He stepped towards her, closing the distance between them and tugged the purse from her hands. "You can even put your key on my ring." He leaned back to take her in once again. "It doesn't look like you have room for pockets." Clary playfully smacked his arm, but he caught her hand and led her from the room and into the hall.

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Clary was, to her surprise, actually having a good time. Jace had introduced her to several of his teammates and their girlfriends, and she thought they seemed nice. She appreciated the effort Jace was making to get her to feel comfortable. The three beers she'd had probably helped in that respect as well.

They were dancing now; Jace was behind her, hands on her hips, leaning over her protectively as he kissed her neck. A low moan pitched from his throat as he pressed closer to her. Clary covered his hands with her own, allowing his body to hold her weight as she fully allowed him free reign with her body. She was intoxicated with the atmosphere, her mind fogging with the heat of the room, the alcohol coursing through her blood, and the overwhelming sense of _Jace_. She spun to face him, pulling his head down roughly towards hers for a searing kiss. He lifted her from her feet and backed away from the floor, moving towards a mostly uninhabited corner. He pressed her hard against the wall, his hand on her stomach to keep her in place as he kissed her, moving his tongue past her lips possessively, trying to reach and maintain more and more of her body.

Jace broke the kiss to breathe, but instantly, his lips attached to her neck, sucking and biting to send shivers down Clary's spine. She moaned, a breathy sound, and tilted her head back against the wall. Her eyes opened, and from the corner of the line of her sight, she saw a few idlers part. A flash of white-blonde hair peeked through her consciousness, and out of instinct, she turned her head to see him more clearly.

Her eyes widened and she gasped, jerking back from Jace and painfully hitting her head on the wooden wall. Jace raised his head, looking up at her concernedly. "Are you okay?"

"Um, I'm fine, I just, I- um, I need a drink!" Clary swallowed hard, pulling at the first excuse she could logically come up with. "Can you get me some water, please?"

Jace pulled away, the concerned look slipping to one of confusion. "Um, sure. Okay. Hang on."

He disappeared into the crowd, and Clary scanned the room again, looking for the terrifyingly familiar hair. She prayed, she hoped against hope that she was seeing things. She wished that she were going crazy, that the nightmares that haunted her for weeks, months even, were back. She prayed for anything but his actual presence in this place.

She found him, and breathing hard, complete recognition set in. It was truly him. Her face displayed horror as he too scanned the room, apparently looking for someone, and his eyes met hers.

A second passed, a curious familiarity on his face before he too recognized Clary. A dark smile crept over his face, but the shadow of someone blocked their view of one another. Another sense of gross, abject horror settled over Clary when she realized that the person that was now greeting Sebastian was Jace. Jace was in the middle of one of the complex handshakes that all boys seem to know instinctively. Jace was easily chatting to him. Jace was friends, teammates, with the father of her son.

Clary turned and fled, bumping and ramming into bystanders, apologizing roughly through the haze of panic that was creeping up her throat. She burst through a door; she didn't know where it lead, but it got her away from everything. Shaking, she fetched hard up against the wall and slid down so that her knees were on the ground, her forehead rolling against the rough plaster as she tried to force away the hyperventilation and the terror that rose within her.

…

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…

While Jace was fetching the two bottled waters from the kitchen, he saw Sebastian enter the room. Figuring that it would at least be polite to say hello, he made his way over and shook his hand. They chatted for a few minutes, exchanging the typical pleasantries that fell between teammates.

Jace felt as though he couldn't get away fast enough. He needed to get back to Clary; he needed to find out what made her react in such a way, but when he looked back up, she was gone. He craned his head searching for her, seeing a flash of red hair exit the room. Now more than worried, he hurried after her, clutching the bottles of water tightly in his hand. He found Clary; crouched down, one hand stretched out on the wall, back to him, shoulders heaving with labored breath.

"Clary, babe, what's wrong?" He dropped the water to the floor and slid in behind her. Rage boiled inside of him when he saw the tears streaming down her face, leaving tracks of eyeliner and mascara over her cheeks. He took her face in his hands and searched her over for injury.

"Please, Jace, I need to go home. Please just take me home." Jace tamped back the anger he felt, focusing instead on Clary.

"What happened? Did you get hurt? Did someone hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I'll tell you in the car. Please, just, let's go." At the sound of her voice breaking all over again, Jace closed her eyes and pulled her against his chest.

"It's okay, Clary, we'll go." Clary was the strongest person he knew, and the very idea of her crying was abhorrent to him. He gathered her in his arms and rocked her against his chest for a moment before taking her hand and pulling her out of the house and towards his car.

Clary was quiet, dazed, as they walked; Jace, while calm and collected on the inside, was losing control. Clary was _broken_. The look on her face was something completely unlike that which he had ever seen before. It scared him. He opened the passenger door of the Aston Martin, took her hand to help her in, and moved to the other side. When he slid the key into the ignition, the car immediately purred to life. The drive to Clary's apartment felt long and drawn out, broken only by the twelve words that Clary spoke.

"Jace, I think I need to tell you who Mattie's dad is."

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**So, yes, there was a cliffie, but this chapter is also 5,574 words long, so balance?**

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**Please note that the next chapter will be a little dark.**

**Also, a little shout out to all of my followers! I actually kind of have an idea… I'd like a poster for this story, but I don't have the proper software to create one. I was wondering if one of you lovely little people do? I would be willing to write a one-shot, two-shot, or three-shot of your choice in exchange for some artwork. You can even do more than one if you don't like, but I would love to see some sort of artwork, whether in the style of a book cover or movie poster or thumbnail; I don't really care! I just want to see some of what you can do!**


	19. Chapter 19

The ride was stony; Clary was quiet, and Jace was in shock. He was on auto-pilot, driving to his apartment after Clary told him that she didn't want to go home. He threw out suggestions, trying to remain calm for Clary's sake. He was an excellent actor, his outward appearance unwavering, voice steady.

"Taki's?"

"No, it's too," Clary gestured, trying to get her point across, "Out there. I look awful."

He wouldn't take her to the park this late, it was nearing one in the morning, and while he didn't fear for himself, Jace wouldn't put Clary in that position.

"I'll take you to my apartment. Alec's away for the weekend, so we'll be alone. We can," he hesitated, "talk."

A very small smile touched her lips when she said, "I've never been there before." The she simply nodded and retreated into herself again.

Minutes later, Jace pulled into the parking garage and opened his door, lingering for a moment after pulling the latch. The idea of Clary falling apart at the party, having triggered some sort of traumatic memory, was unfathomable to Jace. She was a rock, there was very little else to be said. She held him together, not the other way around. With this sudden role reversal, Jace was uncomfortable, unsure of how to react. He had never been the glue to keep someone else intact. He was in entirely new water. He took a deep breath and stood, walking around to the other side of the car to take Clary's hand and lead her to the elevator. They rode in silence, hands still wrapped together.

Jace slipped his keys from his pocket and opened the door, still silent, unwilling to push or pressure Clary into speaking before she was ready. He led her into his room, gathered a shirt and a pair of clean boxers for her to wear and showed her the bathroom.

"Why don't you take a shower? You'll feel better. I'll get some food or coffee, or something." Jace's speech was robotic as he took in Clary's appearance again, mascara tracked down her cheeks, making her eyes bigger and greener and her face smaller and paler. She was hugging herself, arms crossed and eyes averted from his. She took the clothes from him gratefully and shut the bathroom door behind her quietly. Jace could hear her small feet pattering against the cool white tile of the ensuite bathroom.

He placed his forearm against the wooden door and leaned his forehead against his warm skin. He breathed deeply for a few moments, fearing he already knew what Clary would tell him. He'd had his suspicions from the disastrous birthday dinner he planned for her a few weeks ago. She'd had such a strong reaction to his question that the seed had been planted. While he certainly didn't maintain the friendliest of relationships with people he slept with, he did not become physically angry when they were mentioned. He prayed for the opposite, but deep down, he felt as though Clary would only confirm what he suspected.

He pulled back from the door and found himself in the kitchen, searching through the refrigerator for something edible. He, being born and raised in the city, typically found himself eating out, not bothering to cook. While he was growing up, he, his mother and his father would dine in an expensive restaurant or the maid would prepare a full course meal_. _Jace hadn't actually discovered takeout until moving in with Alec. Essentially, there was nothing but nearly empty boxes in the fridge. Jace set them all out on the counter and reached above marble top to the cupboard and retrieved two plates. He set them down and collapsed on the couch just as he heard the water shut off in the bathroom.

He was waiting only a few moments before Clary appeared, fiery curls hanging down to her waist, stretched from the weight of the water. She was drowning in the shirt he had given her, it touched the halfway mark on her thigh; the very bottom of the boxers he gave her peeked past the hem of the shirt. Her face was scrubbed free of all traces of make-up, giving her the appearance of a young child playing dress up in her parent's clothing.

She cleared her throat. "That's quite an array, there." She nodded at the impressive, yet somewhat lacking buffet of takeout boxes spread out across the kitchen.

Jace spread an arm out towards it all, "Help yourself." He rested his head against the back of the leather couch.

"We should talk first," Clary answered quietly. Jace nodded, still staring at the ceiling. Clary moved to his side, folding her legs underneath herself on the couch. "Just," she hesitated, breathing out a sigh before continuing, "promise me that you'll listen to the entire story first, before you ask questions or judge me."

Jace turned his head to look at her. "I would never judge you, Clary," He said simply.

"You might after you hear this." She swallowed hard and averted her eyes. She took a deep breath to steady her shaking hands and began. "Okay, so you kind of have to hear my whole story in order to understand. My real dad was an ass. He got my mom pregnant when she was nineteen and he left her flat. She then went on to marry a pretty famous author, my step-dad, Luke, who is basically like my real father. Anyway, she's pretty successful as an artist, and between her money and Luke's fortune, my family was pretty well off." Clary's face bore a faraway look as she reached deep within her past to draw out the faded and dusty memory.

"However, my mother was never a good mom. I mean, she took care of me, but that was it. It was like, she was obligated to see that I was fed and had clothes, but she never spent any time with me, even when I was little. She was never abusive or anything, but," Clary paused, searching for the right words, "My childhood was always lacking. I kind of raised myself. We definitely weren't a Norman Rockwell family. So yeah," she paused again, "I never had a great relationship with my mother. When I got pregnant, it got a lot worse." Clary added the last phrase on quietly.

"Six, almost seven years ago now, I was in high school. It was my freshman year, so I was starting in a new building, new part of town, everything. I had one friend, Simon, that I'd known since kindergarten, and we were both pretty geeky. We were into _Star Wars_ and Dungeons and Dragons; he gamed and painted. Naturally, we were both outcasts.

"I was really focused on painting," she continued, "So I didn't really date at all, not," she added, "that anyone really wanted to date me, but there was this one boy that I just thought was beautiful. He was two years older than me and had really blonde hair and he played basketball so his body was very contoured," she shrugged. "He was the kind of body that I love to sketch, lined and angular; it's just really beautiful to look at." Clary scratched her head once before continuing. "He was so far out of my league, though, that I just watched him from the sidelines, sketching and re-sketching, until one day, this girl looked over my shoulder and saw who I was drawing. Naturally, she told everyone." Clary smiled, even laughed a little bit. "I was a complete outcast, everyone avoided me and Simon, so I was kind of a prime target." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, it got back to him that I was like, stalking him, or fantasizing about him, or whatever, and he found me the one day after school.

"He pretty much cornered me in the courtyard. I was actually a little scared, because I thought he was going to taunt me or throw a slushie at me or something, but he just got me alone and said that he heard I was an artist and since I was drawing him, I clearly had good taste in subjects. Then he asked to see my art, so I showed him. He said he really liked my sketches and asked me to go for coffee with him so that he could keep looking through my sketchbook. No one from school had ever really expressed an interest in my art, or even in me, really, so it was instant school girl love. So I went," she shrugged.

Jace, to his own horror, felt a twinge of jealousy. He didn't want Clary to be attracted to anyone but himself, even in the past. She was his.

"So anyway," she continued after clearing her throat, "We went for coffee, traded numbers, and hung out once or twice over the next few weeks, basically we kept it to ourselves though, because he was still the cool jock and I was the loser redhead with the art book." Clary took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next part of the story. "But then he asked me to go to a party. At that point, I thought I was pretty much in love with him, so I blew off Simon and went with him. He pulled me into this back room almost as soon as we got there.

"He'd been drinking, because I wasn't there right away. I figured that if I showed up after everyone else, no one would notice me, the lowly freshman at a junior and senior party, and then I could just go back with him and hang out and," she shrugged again, "have fun," she finished lamely.

"We ended up lying on this bed, and we started kissing, and he put his hand up my shirt. I let him. He went farther, and I let him." Clary paused, looking towards the ceiling with a shuddering sigh, trying to collect herself before continuing. "Clothes came off, but I liked him, so I didn't want to stop because I thought it would make him angry, so I let him go, thinking that he would stop because there was no way that people actually had sex in the back room at a party when they were drunk. I mean, I was fifteen, and that _just didn't happen._" Clary swallowed hard once again and clutched at her knees to keep herself from flying into a million pieces.

"But then I realized that it was going happen, and I tried to stop him, but," she trailed off, shrugging. "He just put his hand over my mouth and held me down." A tear fell. "When he was done he just, I don't know. Got up and put his clothes on and walked away." She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "I laid there for a while, in complete shock, I just," she paused again. "I don't know how it happened. Still, to this day." She scratched her ear. "I don't know how I was so stupid." She sighed, not looking at Jace. "I finally got up, put my clothes on, and crawled out the window and down the fire escape." Clary leaned forward to bury her head in her hands. Her voice came out muffled against her fingers.

"Four weeks later I took a pregnancy test. Two weeks after that, I told my mom and Luke. I figured that my mom, of all people, would understand, because she had me really young. I tried to explain that it wasn't my fault, but she was so embarrassed that her daughter was such a screw up that when I refused to have an abortion, she hit me so hard it knocked me down the stairs." Clary was crying at this point, tears falling; face balling up as Jace stared at her, frozen with a half pitying, half horrified look. "That's what the scar on my back is from."

"I kept it a secret for as long as I could, but I started to show. Rumors were flying anyway, but it got out. When Simon found out, I tried to explain it to him, but he completely abandoned me. He said," Clary took in a deep shuddering sigh, but managed to still the tears, "I should ashamed and I was really stupid for not using protection, or even sleeping around in the first place. When I tried to tell him what actually happened, he said I was lying and I was making it up to cover my ass." She shook her head and sighed again. "I haven't really seen him since. When I tried to tell, you know, _him,_ about the baby, he just laughed and said there was no way it was his, but when I came back at him," Clary looked down, suddenly very interested in the pattern on the white carpet, "He just pushed me back against the wall and said that if I told anyone that I was pregnant with his baby, he would kill it.

"My mom finally told me that I had to leave. She handed me three hundred dollars and a suitcase, telling me that when I got rid of the baby, I was free to come live in her house again. Until then, I was on my own. So I took two of my paintings, ones that had won an award, and sold them to this nightclub owner, and I used that money to get an apartment. I got a job at Taki's, and a month later, I had Mattie."

"Clary, why didn't you tell anyone what he did?" Jace burst in, questions breaking forth from him uncontrollably.

"Because who would believe me, Jace?" She finally looked back to him, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. "He was the star basketball player, going to school on a full ride, and I was just the loser, outcast, stupid girl with a sketch pad who got herself knocked up at fifteen. Not even the police would have believed me. Not even my best friend believed me."

Jace went silent as realization washed over him. Clary had been fine until the party. Clary had been fine until she had seen someone at the party. Clary had been fine until she had seen her rapist at the party. "Who was it?" Jace asked quietly. "Who did this to you?"

"Jace-" Clary started, but he cut her off.

"Who was it, Clary? By my best guess, he must have been at that party, which means that I probably know him." He put his hands on her shoulders, not roughly, but enough to get her attention. "Who is it?"

Clary sighed, shaking her head. "Jace, what good would it do? It's in the past."

He shook her, gently, not even enough to make her shift in her seat, but enough to pull her eyes back to him, "Who was it?"

She relented, her voice tiny and quiet. "Sebastian Verlac."

Jace released her and recoiled back. "What?" He whispered.

Clary closed her eyes and nodded again. "Sebastian is Mattie's father."

Jace stood, backing away from her with wide eyes. Clary looked at him, scared that she had somehow hurt Jace. Maybe he and Sebastian were closer than she knew and she had just informed him that one of his best friends was a rapist.

Jace turned from her, locking his hands behind his hand as he tried to quell his rage. He had never liked Sebastian, but now he downright hated him. His hand flew out as he knocked a lamp from the end table, sending it flying through the air before crashing against the wall and breaking into a million tiny pieces. He turned again to Clary, who sat nearly cowering in her seat.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He roared.

Clary flinched back, saying, "I didn't know that you knew him. I'd never met your teammates before, I didn't know!"

Jace looked at her, seething. "You can't expect me to just sit back and play on the same team with him, can you? He raped you, Clary. He fucking raped you and you had his baby and he threatened you into silence!" He fairly leaped across the room and took her by the shoulders again, kneeling before her. "I don't care who the hell he thinks he is, no one does that. Make him pay!"

Clary knocked his hands from her shoulders, hissing back, "I don't know exactly what you think you're accomplishing. Yes, he's a rapist. It could have been worse. Bad things happen all the time, bad things happen to good people and sometimes you just have to accept them." She stood up and towered over him, venom in her voice. After a beat, she collapsed back into the sofa. "It's too late now, anyway. There's no evidence, just my word against his. No one would believe me."

Jace reached for her face, cradling her cheeks in his hands as he sought her eyes. "Baby, anyone who knows Sebastian would believe you. Run a DNA test on Matt; prove that he's Sebastian's. At least get child support."

"And tell my son that his dad is an evil, awful, horrible person?" Clary circled Jace's wrists with her hands and shook her head. "That's a terrible burden to bear in life. I won't do it."

Jace groaned and leaned his forehead against her. "Baby," he started, but Clary cut him off.

"No. Please, if you respect me, please. Just drop it. I don't want my past to affect my future, or my son's future, or your future, or even our future. Please, just," she hesitated, biting her lip, "let it go."

Jace nudged her nose with his. "I won't let it go, I can't let it go, but," He sighed deeply, rolling his forehead against hers, "I won't pursue it. That's the best I can do." Clary nodded silently, closing her eyes and reveling in the feel of his breath brush against her face. They stayed like that for a few moments, until Jace interrupted the silence with, "I thought I told you that if you bite your lip around me, I'm going to have to do something about it."

Clary laughed once, a shaky sound still laden with tears, but it brought the relief to the room. He kissed her forehead and picked her up, carrying her bridal style to his bedroom. He laid her out on the bed and turned off the light, crawling in and under the covers behind her. He draped an arm across her waist, pulling her back snug against his chest as he rubbed a soothing circle on her hip. He nuzzled the back of her neck, but Clary, already exhausted from the long day at work, and having added the stress and overwhelming emotions of the party, and the hour of sobbingly recounting her life to Jace was thoroughly spent and she immediately drifted off to sleep.

Jace lay next to her, holding her fast to his body as the anger still boiled within him. He had promised Clary that he wouldn't pursue any legal repercussions against his former friend, but there were plenty of ways to get even outside of the law, and he would make sure that Sebastian would not forget or take lightly the sins he had committed against Clary. Jace had found another purpose in life.

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	20. Chapter 20

**Fair warning, the end of this chapter is a little bit steamy.**

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Clary was awake. She was curled up on her side, hair covering her face, and still dressed in Jace's day old clothes. She rolled to her back, and looked up at the ceiling defeatedly. Jace lay asleep next to her, but he wasn't touching her. Usually, his arm was draped across her waist, his hand was in hers, or her body was tucked against his chest. This morning, though, there was a painful distance between the two.

Running a hand down over her face, she glanced at the clock. The red numbers screamed 5:42 through the darkness. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, crossed her arms, and hunched over. A sigh passed through her lips. "Clary, you idiot." She whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at Jace again, who had shifted in his sleep and faced away from her.

She stood and crossed the room on tiptoes, trying to avoid waking Jace. Gathering her clothes and changing quickly, she held her shoes in one hand as she walked out the door, closing it softly behind her.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?"A man's voice sounded behind her, startling her badly enough that she nearly screamed. Whipping around, she saw a tall, scowling man with dark hair and eyes so blue that Clary knew she would have to spend hours mixing paints to get the precise shade. He was lanky, arms crossed fiercely over his chest as he stared her down.

"I, um, Jace?" She answered, confused. Had Jace never told his roommate about her?

His eyes snapped to hers. "Jace wasn't supposed to be here tonight." He looked nervous, maybe even scared. His eyes were wide, body frozen, but he shook his head and recovered. "Well, what are you waiting for, cab fair?" His voice was snarling. "You can leave now." He waited a moment as Clary looked dumbly at him, then took three steps toward her and reiterated, "Why aren't you moving?" He emphasized every word, speaking as though to a toddler just learning to talk. He sneered at her. "You're not even his usual type. He likes leggy blondes, not short carrot tops."

"Who are you?" Clary breathed, anger tightening in her chest.

The boy looked taken aback, as though he were unaccustomed to Jace's female company talking back. He recovered with, "His best friend. Not like you two even talked. Just fell right into bed, didn't you?"

"Alec?" She asked, confused. He nodded once, a wary look in his eye. She hadn't expected him to be so hostile. "I'm Clary."

Alec rolled his eyes, attitude souring even further. "You can definitely get out then."

"What?" Clary was bewildered as she waited for the rest of Alec's answer.

"You heard me." Alec was gruff and sneering. "I have no patience for a skanky, gold-digging slut with a kid that's milking my brother for everything he's worth." He nodded toward the door. "So _leave._"

Clary stared at him openmouthed.

"I said _get the hell out of my apartment." _Alec hissed at her and stepped forward, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the front door. She grunted and struggled, but just as Clary was opening her mouth to call out, the bedroom door opposite of Jace's opened and a vaguely familiar, nearly naked, Asian man peeked his head out, his face heavy with fatigue.

"Alec, what are you doing? Come back to bed." His voice was quiet and garbled as though he had been startled awake. He blinked as he realized what was happening. "Alec?" He stepped out, and Clary turned to look at the man that still had her arm in a vice like grip. He had gone white.

"Magnus, I told you to stay in my room." His voice was shaky.

Clary looked back and forth between the two rapidly, head whipping comically back and forth. "I need – I just need to go." She jerked her arm free and ran out the door, not bothering to close it quietly as she made her escape. She heard the door open behind her, and she looked over her shoulder, scared that Alec was following her. When she saw him leaving the apartment, her mouth opened and she spun around, running for the stairs.

"Stop," he called, and despite Clary's quickening pace, his hands wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her to a painful stop.

"If you touch me, I'll scream," Clary declared, her voice shaky and breathless.

"And how will you scream if my hands are around your throat?" Alec murmured quietly as he pinned her against the wall with one hand.

"Let me go!" Clary struggled against him, and after a moment, he released her. She stumbled forward a step, knocking into Alec as she caught her balance. "Why are you after me like this?"

"Let's just say that I don't think that you're quite worthy of Jace." Alec sneered.

"Why, do you think he belongs with you?" Clary said defiantly, a sudden draught of courage lighting through her veins as she realized what had just taken place. Alec froze and looked taken aback at her words.

"What did you say?" His voice was quiet, his face was white.

"Does Jace know that you're gay?" Clary asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, that's the only scenario that really makes sense. You looked scared when you heard that Jace was in the apartment, you told that guy to stay in your room, and you couldn't get rid of me fast enough." She never saw Alec's hand coming as he grabbed her chin and forced her back against the wall.

"_What_ did you say?" Alec's voice was still quiet and ungarnering of attention, but it had taken on a lethal edge.

Clary could feel the terror on her face as this taller, stronger man had her in a helpless position. Despite the fact that she knew Alec probably would not hurt her, the memories she had dredged up with Jace last night had her heart racing and her mouth dry as her green eyes flicked back and forth from Alec's face to over his shoulder, praying that Jace – or even the other man – would come out and save her. She was frozen in fear. Jace had never really talked about Alec; she knew very little about him. Jace was a different person before they had met, and he may have kept dangerous friends. For all she knew, Alec was a murdering, kidnapping drug dealer. She took a deep breath.

"Let me go," Clary said, forcing her voice to steady. She stilled her shaking body and steeled herself. Another deep breath in through her nose. "Let me go now."

"Don't you ever say anything like that again." Alec's voice was filled with quiet rage and he pressed on her harder.

"Let me go."

Alec tilted his head as though he were deliberating. "No. You don't understand,"

Clary cut him off. "Alec, let me go right now."

Their voices overlapped for a moment, confusion in the air as the boys' front door opened again and the Asian man looked out and around. Even from several yards away, Clary could see his eyes widen. Though he had since put on a shirt, he strode pants-less into the hallway and towards them. He called out for Alec to let her go, and when his head turned away from Clary for a moment, it was all the opportunity she needed.

Using one foot, she stamped down hard on Alec's instep. He gasped and lurched back, allowing Clary to grab his wrist and push his hand away from her face. He stumbled back a little bit, clutching at Clary to steady himself, but she bit at him, and he jerked back, this time falling to the ground. She turned and fled from the apartment complex, ignoring the cry of her name from the men behind her.

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Jace woke up tangled in warm sheets, sweated through, and exhausted. He hadn't slept, only dozed for a few hours, tossing and turning fitfully as images of fifteen year old Clary being held down by his teammate assaulted his dreams. He turned to his other side, kicking off the sheets, and expected to see Clary asleep next to him, but she was gone.

"Clary," He murmured as he stretched his arm out towards the other side of the bed. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Where are you?" Pushing himself up on one arm, he looked at the clock and raked a hand through his hair. Clary never woke up before him, and when he saw the time, he was even more surprised. It was barely eight o'clock.

He flopped back to his bed, burying his face in the pillows. He assumed she was in the bathroom and turned over to his side again to wait for her. His eyes fluttered closed, and he was asleep again. He woke much later, but Clary had not returned. He checked his phone, expecting to see a message or a call from her explaining why she had left, but the screen was blank. He sat up for real this time, shucking the covers from his body and stood to straighten out his shorts. Rubbing his eyes, he stepped out of his room and into the kitchen to make some coffee. He grunted a good morning to Alec, who was dressed and sitting on the couch with an open book in his lap.

"Have you seen Clary?"

"Who?" Alec snipped, reaching for his own cup of tea. "I already made coffee for you."

"Thank you." Jace answered mechanically, reaching for the cupboard that stored the mugs. "Clary. My girlfriend. You know, about five feet tall, red hair."

"No, Jace, I wouldn't know. I haven't met her. I don't know her from Adam." Alec's voice was snide, sarcastic to the point of genuine hostility.

Jace blinked. "Well, you could probably distinguish one from the other, seeing as how I'm not dating a man," Jace quipped. "What's with the attitude?" He retrieved a large glass mug and filled it with coffee, mixing in a little bit of the Coffeemate creamer that was left on the counter.

Alec had jerked up, his back ramrod straight with Jace's last statement. He ignored the question Jace had posed to him and instead flatly stated, "I thought you weren't going to be here last night."

"I brought Clary back here instead of her apartment. Why?" Jace collapsed into the armchair opposite of the couch and took a sip of the steaming coffee and smiled, "Did _you _have a date, Alec?"

"I don't date." He retorted.

"Look, did you see Clary or not?" Jace set his mug on the end-table and leaned forward. "You didn't try to scare her away, did you?"

Alec, who had gone back to his textbook, looked back to Jace, staring at him through long, dark eyelashes. "The world does not revolve around your relationships, Jonathan." With that, he closed the book with a resounding thump, stood and primly walked to his room, shutting the door behind him with a satisfying slam.

Jace rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his coffee. He slipped his phone from his pocket and tried to call Clary, but there was no answer. Worry started to slip its way into his mind. He stood to shower and dress, resolving to go to her apartment as soon as he was finished.

On the drive over, anger started to boil in the pit of his stomach. While he had never particularly liked Sebastian, knowing that he had forced himself on a young girl disgusted him to the point where he felt physically ill. Without realizing it had happened, he was outside of Sebastian's apartment and running up the stairs to his door. He pounded on the wooden frame, calling for him to open the door.

White blond hair was the first thing Jace saw when the door was wrenched open, Sebastian cursing at him for being woken up.

Red hot rage was the second.

Sebastian's blood was the third.

Jace's curled fist flew before he could stop it, not that he would have. The crunch of bone was gratifying, and he stepped forward to deliver another blow.

"Jace! What the hell, man?" Sebastian righted himself cried out, but he merely stumbled back under another hit. He fell to one knee under the force of the hits, and Jace took the opportunity to grab the collar of his shirt and shake him.

"I know what you did, you sick bastard." Jace's face was close to Sebastian's, and his nose wrinkled as the smell of stale alcohol, cigarettes and weed filled his nose. His arm pulled back, letting loose another pounding blow. Sebastian fell back to the floor again, this time clutching his face. Jace's booted foot connected with his ribs, causing the boy to double over as he got to his hands and knees. "I should kill you."

"Jace, what are you talking about?" Sebastian groaned as he collapsed.

Frenzy came over Jace as he realized that he did not even remember what he had done. He reached forward and roughly clutched Sebastian by the neck again. "I know what you did to Clary six and a half years ago. Pretty soon, everyone will." Jace's voice was gravelly, the threat clear and present in his words. Recognition set in to Sebastian's eyes and a cruel smile curved on his lips.

"I thought I recognized your date." His black eyes flashed against Jace's golden ones. "Upset I got to her first?" His head snapped backwards under the force of the punch that Jace delivered. "Probably more upset that I was better, huh? You never forget your first time."

Jace lunged forward again, fists flying, Sebastian's blood splashing against his clean white shirt. Jace had _never_ felt such hatred before in his life. Sebastian wrestled himself free, stood, and kicked high, catching Jace's face and knocking him backwards.

His head hit off the doorjamb and he blinked as the world slipped in and out of focus. His ears rang. He touched his temple, and his fingers came away bloody. The other boy was on top of him then, pummeling and smiling like a demon just loosed from hell.

Sebastian paused for a moment, grasping Jace's chin in his hand, and tilted his head to the side contemplatively. "I bet it just steams you up, doesn't it?" He raised his hand to beat Jace again, but he managed to unpin one of his arms and knock Sebastian back. He pulled himself upright and lurched forward to cover Sebastian's body with his. It was his turn again, and his fist surged forward, hitting again and again. Exhausted and finally satisfied, Jace fell to the side, Sebastian unconscious beneath him. Jace stood, dizzy as he stumbled from the apartment to his car. He sat for a long time.

He twisted the key into the ignition and turned the engine over before he had fully regained his bearings. He reached for his phone; Clary hadn't called him back yet. With his headache starting to fade and his vision slowly returning to normal, he pulled out of the parking spot and into the street.

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Clary flipped the pancakes out of the frying pan and onto the plate for her son. "Mattie?" She called for him to turn off the television and sit at the table for his lunch. It was nearing one o'clock, and she just wanted to sit down and have a meal that wasn't interrupted by her phone ringing. Jace had called six times in the last two hours, and as much as she wanted to answer the phone, she was too scared of what he might say. Delaying reality, pushing off the harshness of the fact that he was probably going to end their relationship, was the only thing that kept her up and moving right now. She walked around the table, getting the syrup from the counter and pouring two glasses of milk and setting it all on the table.

"Matthew, come on. Now. It's getting cold."

She heard the television click off and the pattering footsteps enter the kitchen. The chair scraped as he pulled it out and sat down, looking at Clary expectantly. She placed the plate in front of him, dropping a kiss on his forehead as she told him to go ahead and eat; she was going to wash her hands. She made it halfway to the bathroom before someone pounded on the door. Looking at it, she sighed, but went to open it. Allowing the door to swing wide, she stared up at Jace, bloody, bruised, exhausted and looking at her with a combination of such fear and adoration and relief that she almost shrank back from the weight of it.

"What happened?" She gasped.

He shook his head tiredly and leaned against the doorframe, cradling his forehead in the crook of his elbow. "You're okay." He whispered.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" She asked, stepping forward and brushing a hand against his stomach, causing his breath to hitch at the pain. "What happened to you, Jace?"

"Nothing."

"Who did you," Clary trailed off as a wave of realization hit her. "Sebastian?" Her eyes, pointed at the floor, flicked up to his face and she licked her bottom lip as her mouth set in a straight, angry line.

He nodded once.

"Jace," she started, irritation flowing through her voice as she stepped back and crossed her arms, but she was cut off when he stepped forward and grabbed her face, tenderly stroking circles on her cheeks with his thumb, and kissed her. His mouth moved on hers, gently nudging apart her lips as his nose caressed hers. Clary's hands came up to circle her fingers around his wrist.

He pulled back a few inches, just enough to look in her eyes. "You were gone." He said simply. "I woke up and you were gone. I was," he hesitated, "scared." He finished on a whisper.

Clary's face crumpled. "Me too," she murmured in a voice that was pitched low with held back emotion. "I thought you wouldn't want me anymore." She stepped forward into Jace's arms and felt his arms wrap around her, holding her tightly to his chest as one hand tangled in her hair and pressed her face against the spot where his heart was pounding. She breathed in his scent, lemon and blood and sweat and that unidentifiable smell of a man fresh from the shower. They stayed like that for a few moments until Clary tilted her head up to look at him, met only with golden eyes and his lips pressing against hers.

As much as she hated it, she stepped back and looked at him again. "Jace, seriously, what happened?" She noted the gash on his forehead and reached for it, pushing his blonde bangs away so that she could see it better. He inclined his head, eyes fluttering closed when her warm fingers brushed over the broken skin.

"Nothing." He started stoically, but when Clary clucked her tongue at him, he admitted, "Exactly what you think."

"Why?" She sighed as she drew him inside and led him to the bathroom, where she motioned for him to sit on the toilet as she gathered the limited first aid supplies that she had. She closed and locked the door as Jace leaned on his hand.

"Because no one should be allowed to do that." He stated simply.

"Jace, I told you that I've moved on, forgiven him, even," she poured hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball and gently moved his hand aside so that she could clean the cut on his forehead. At his sharp intake of breath at the combined sting of the cleanser and the pressure on the wound, Clary frowned and kissed the top of his head soothingly. She turned away and unscrewed the cap of the antibiotic ointment, squeezing a small amount of the greasy gel onto the tips of her fingers and smeared it against the now clean area.

Jace looked at her from underneath her arm, and she caught his gaze. He clutched at her wrist and lowered her arm, pulling her forward so that she straddled his lap.

"Jace, what are you doing?" She muttered against his warm, soft lips. He didn't answer her, but rather moved one hand between them to the juncture of her thighs, tantalizingly rubbing his fingers over her warmth. Her small gasp only encouraged him, and he unbuttoned her jeans, slipping past the rough material to the softness underneath.

"Jace," she gasped again, but he silenced her with another searing kiss. He touched her, exploring her in an intimate and overwhelming way, his eyes, so golden and expressive, watching every emotion dance across her face. Her eyes closed, then jerked open. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out save the breathy noises of pleasure that she made. When she finally hit her breaking point, a soft grunt flowed from her lips as her body tightened on his fingers. Her arms, already around his neck, tightened as her hands went to his hair.

"No, no, I'm not finished with you yet," he said softly as his hands left her warmth and peeled the denim away from her legs. Clary stared at him wide-eyed as he removed the rest of the impeding clothing. He pulled her back, pressing into her in one smooth, swift motion. A moan that she disguised as a gasp left her, and Jace took the cue as he started to rock his hips back and forth, slowly at first, dropping sweet little kisses all over Clary's face. He quickened though, as her breathless moans shot straight through his body.

"You have to know, Clary." He mumbled against her skin, "You have to know that I will never not want you. I don't care." He captured her lips again and moved one hand to Clary's lower back, lifting her just slightly, changing the position just enough to make her stiffen and muffle a cry against his shoulder. "I just want you."

"Jace," she started, speaking against his neck, but was unable to finish. The words would not come out. Instead, she moved her body, rolling her hips against him, earning a hiss of pleasure. She could not stop that guttural moan that bled from her lips and into Jace's body as she came. His hands grasped her hips tight enough to leave a bruise as he followed her. They collapsed against each other, spent, sweaty and sated as they came down from their high in Clary's little yellow bathroom.

Clary pulled away first, leaning back and smiling tiredly when she saw Jace's cheeky and unapologetic grin. She kissed his forehead again, careful to avoid the injured spot, but when she pulled back, Jace was not smiling. He instead was staring at her with an intensity that had her trapped in his arms, her world shrinking down and running out of oxygen. Her entire being was Jace.

"I mean it, Clary." Jace whispered. "I want you." His fingers came up and stroked her face, ghosting over her eyelids, down her nose, and across her lips before he leaned in and pressed his against her once more. His mouth trailed down, leaving sweet kisses over her neck and collarbone.

She hummed against his temple. They were entirely caught up in each other until a little knock echoed through the room.

"Mommy, are you done washing your hands? I need to go to the bathroom!" Matthew's small voice carried through the room and Clary sat up stark straight.

"Just a second, honey. Jace has a cut and Mommy's fixing it for him!" Clary's voice was breathy with panic as she stood and adjusted her clothes, motioning for Jace to do that same. He smiled and complied, nodding to let Clary know that he was decent again.

"When did Jace get here?" Matthew's voice was confused.

"Just a few minutes ago, Buddy," Clary answered as she flipped the lock and opened the door, still flushed and disheveled from the tryst a few moments ago. She turned to Jace, longing and intensity all over her face. She snatched up a Band-Aid from the counter and tore it open, gently smoothing it over the injured area on Jace's forehead. She grabbed Jace's hand and led him from the bathroom, allowing the little boy, who was almost dancing, some privacy.

They walked to the kitchen, where Clary sat Jace down at the table and poured him a cup of coffee. The satisfied half smile on his face and intense gaze had Clary blushing. "I can't believe we did that." She giggled.

"Well, I'm up for a repeat performance anytime, Sweetheart," he affirmed as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. "I've never seen you look as sexy as when you came on my hand. Your blush was the most erotic thing I've ever seen." His words went right through her and Clary's eyes widened.

"Now is not the time." Clary whispered. However, she moved behind him and kissed the golden curls at the top of his head. "Save it for tonight."

…

…

...

**So there it is. Everything is alright in the world of Clace… for now. **

**I do apologize for the wait, I am a full time college student, I work a job, and I hold an executive position in one of the organizations I'm in. **_**I will not abandon this story, guys.**_** I promise you that. So no matter how long I go without updating, please know that there is one coming. **

**What did you think of the lemon? Was it alright, or should I never do anything like that again? I'm not super opposed to changing the rating of the story if there is a desire for it. **

**Leave your thoughts in the review box, please! **

**Love you all!**


	21. Chapter 21

"Do you know how to drive?" Jace's voice was muted, but his eyes were bright as he lay in bed facing Clary.

"What?" Clary asked, crinkling her brow as she opened her eyes. She lifted her head to look at the clock that read five thirty behind Jace. Sleep was still heavy on her eyelids, but Jace had clearly been awake for some time.

"I'm going to teach you how to drive today." He declared, rolling to his back and resting his head in his folded arms.

"Mmm." Clary affirmed sleepily, closing her eyes and pressing closer to Jace.

"No, it's going to happen, Red." Jace turned to speak against her temple. "It's a valuable life skill that every functional person needs."

"I live in New York. If I need to get somewhere, I walk."

"And if it's late at night?" Jace contested.

"I take the Metro." She muttered against his arm.

"Train stops running at eleven." Jace grunted as he rolled over, taking her with him by flipping her onto her back.

"Cabs go twenty-four-seven."

"Your purse got stolen. No cab fair." His lips were moving against her neck.

"Then I wouldn't have car keys either." Clary returned. "Ooh, right there," she moaned as his lips attached to a sensitive spot on her neck. "Or a car."

"Whatever," Jace answered. "But I'm still teaching you how to drive. You should learn just in case.

"Fine, but afterwards," Clary whispered.

"After what?" Jace asked innocently, making her look up at him coquettishly and roll them both over again.

…

…

…

"Jace, I'm not learning how to drive in your Aston Martin."

Clary looked at him incredulously.

"Why not? It's what I learned in." Jace looked at her and held the keys out again.

"Because that is a one hundred and twenty thousand dollar car, that's why. That thing is worth more than me!" Clary hissed through her teeth, pushing the keys back at Jace.

"Okay, the car is not worth more than you, especially not to me." He looked at her sternly. "What kind of car do you think is appropriate to learn in then?"

Clary sighed. "I don't know, like a beat up old Jeep or something."

"Fine, let's go buy one." Jace snatched the keys up and picked Matthew up off the couch, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"What?" Clary deadpanned, confused and slightly appalled.

"Yeah, if you're going to throw a fit about learning to drive in my car, I'm going to go buy you one of your own." Both of the boys looked at her, Jace with a dare, and Matthew with hope. He had wanted a car of his own for a long time.

"You aren't going to buy me a car, Jonathan."

"If you continue to fight me on this, yes, I will just to spite you, Clarissa."

"Jace," Clary warned, a no nonsense edge leaking into her voice.

"Then just take these keys," Jace teased. "It's that simple."

"I'll just stay here and watch TV all day, dummy. I don't need to learn how to drive." Clary looked smug, but she should have known better.

Jace and Matthew looked at each other, and in silent agreement, they nodded. Clary's eyes flicked back and forth between them as Jace lowered the little boy to the ground, who then shouted, "Get her!" Her eyes widened as she stumbled backward, being hit first by her son who clung to her legs while Jace scooped her up, carrying her bridal style.

"Mattie, get her purse and jacket."

"Matthew, don't you dare." Clary warned, and the little boy stopped in his tracks, looking guiltily at his mother.

"Mattie, do it. Your mom needs to learn how to drive." Jace rolled his eyes and encouraged. Matthew did not move, uncertain in the wrath of his mother's glare, but still half hoping that Jace would save him.

"Matthew Ryan Fray, do not get my stuff."

"It's fine if she doesn't want her coat, Mattie, she can freeze." Jace was nonchalant as he turned towards the door and kicked the kid's shoes towards him. "Put your shoes on and let's go."

"Jace, come on," Clary sighed, adapting to the situation and adding a pleading note to her voice. "Please, I don't want to learn how to drive. I don't need to drive."

"Clary, everyone needs to learn how to drive. It's important. You never know," Jace started, but was interrupted by Clary slapping at his back.

"Jace, put me down!" Clary shrieked.

Jace just smiled and carried her out the door.

…

…

…

"Okay, so now what do you do?" Jace's voice was steady and calm as he spoke, unbetraying of the impatience that was boiling beneath his skin.

"Um, I put it in gear?" Clary asked hesitantly.

"Very good, go ahead." Jace smiled at her and looked over his shoulder to where Matthew sat, quietly observing all. "You paying attention bud? You're next." Jace wiggled his eyebrows at the little boy, whose eyes went wide as he clapped and smiled and cheered.

"You're going to give me premature gray hairs if you keep talking like that." Clary groaned as she reached for the shifter and slipped it into first.

"Hush, focus on the road." Jace teased as he reached for her hand.

"No, don't," Clary quipped, "You wouldn't want to distract me."

Jace rolled his eyes. "I guess I'll wait to _really_ distract you until later."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Matthew asked from his position in the backseat, hearing all that the adults were saying.

"Nothing!" Both of them chorused in unison, Clary spearing Jace with a look so cold it could freeze fire. Matthew frowned, but did not push the issue.

"Alright, now give it a little gas," Jace said, trying to curb the edge in his voice.

Clary tapped the pedal, then jerked upright when the car surged forward. "What did I do?" She cried, releasing the wheel and sitting back in the seat.

"Shh, it's alright, you just have to be a little more consistent. Gently press your foot against the pedal and just…" Jace trailed off and motioned at the windshield with his hand, "Go."

"Thank you, driving guru." Clary snarked.

"Hey now," Jace grinned. Clary rolled her eyes and put her hands back on the wheel, resolving to get it right this time. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, her grip tightening as she pushed the gas pedal slowly. This time the car accelerated smoothly and a bright, beautiful smile broke on her face.

"I'm doing it," She laughed incredulously. Jace just sat back and watched her happily. It had taken almost two hours of coaxing and cajoling and instructing, but the look of joy on Clary's face was worth the aggravation and frustration he had felt. Clary had hemmed and hawed, resisting and putting up a fight when he was showing her all of the different aspects of driving.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, curving his lips against her temple as he whispered, "Now maybe we can try going a little faster than fifteen miles an hour?"

She giggled and elbowed him, knocking him back into his seat. Both of them breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The tension in the car had broken. The first hour and a half had been tense and uncomfortable, Jace reacting harshly when Clary had been petulant about learning about the car, Clary retaliating with nasty words that had her promising Matthew that she would put a few dollars in the swear jar when they got home.

Clary stole a glance at Jace from the corner of her eye, still pressing down on the accelerator as she cut the wheel in the abandoned parking lot. He was relaxed against the seat, his head propped on his hand against the window, but his face was still tight. Clary shook her head and turned back to the wheel.

"Faster, Mama!" Matthew cheered from his seat, and Clary glanced up at him in the rearview mirror.

Smiling, she said, "Maybe Mama shouldn't go faster until she has a _lot_ more practice, okay Bud?"

Matthew groaned and shook his head as the adults in the front seat chuckled at his antics.

…

…

…

Clary couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. It tugged at the back of her mind, a little voice inside nagging that something was wrong. She tried to dismiss the thought, but was unable to completely shake it off. Since the night of the party, something had seemed off in her relationship with Jace, and though they had gotten back to joking and touching and being comfortable around each other, thoughts of the unwanted driving lesson yesterday afternoon had irritation clamping in her chest. Clary could not put her finger on exactly what was going on. Something in her gut was telling her that this was the calm before the storm.

She was sitting with him, snuggled up against his side while Matthew was asleep for the night. Clary had the next day off, and since her son would be in school, she and Jace were making plans for a "date day."

"Clary, we can do anything you want to do. I don't care." Jace was murmuring, eyes closed, head lolling against the back of the couch, falling asleep with an arm around her and an ice pack on his other shoulder. He'd spent most of the day at the gym with his shooting coach, showing up at Clary's door with a pained expression and an inability to lift his right arm.

"Hey Jace," Clary said slowly, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot." Jace said, still not lifting his head from the back of the couch. "Actually, no, don't shoot." He groaned. "I don't want to hear, see, or even think about that word."

She hesitated, but kept her nerve. "Where's your family?" Jace pulled up and looked at her sharply. "It's just," she added quickly, sitting up and turning towards him, "You never talk about them. Like, are they, you know," she blushed furiously, trying to avoid his eyes, "gone? Or…" She trailed off. "It's just," she began again with renewed vigor, "You're always either here or at your apartment, not that I mind you being here, in fact, I love it, but I don't even know if you have brothers or sisters or anything. I don't even actually know what you're studying in college. Like, you told me pre-med once, but I really don't believe that." She was rambling, she knew, but she needed to clear her mind.

Jace reached out and put a hand over her mouth gently, not smiling, but not looking angry anymore. If anything, he appeared distant as he pulled his arm away from her.

"It's just," Clary said, "You know everything about me now, and I feel like I don't know anything about you."

Jace settled back against the couch, not looking at her, but at his hands. Clary looked away as well, but wouldn't back down from the question and waited expectantly.

"I don't get along with my dad, and my mom," he hesitated and looked up at the opposite wall, "She isn't here anymore. Hasn't been for a while." Clary reached for his hand, but he pulled back slightly, and she dropped her hand. He wouldn't look at her. "You're right, I'm not pre-med. I'm a Public Relations major. That's what my dad wanted. The whole point in me going to college was to take over his firm when he dies." He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry about your mom," Clary offered timidly. Though he hid from the world behind a blank, emotionless mask, she had become better at picking out cracks in the façade. He was hurt and embarrassed, though she didn't know by what.

"Not your fault." He stated flatly. "Why do people apologize when it isn't their fault?" He looked up at her, an anger in his eyes that she was unaccustomed to seeing, especially directed at her.

"Jace," she murmured, holding her hands up relentingly.

"No, don't." He stood and turned to face her, throwing the ice pack on the coffee table. "Isn't there anything else from my personal life you want to pry from me?" His voice was raised, and Clary motioned for him to be quieter as she too stood up.

"First of all, lower your voice. I don't want Matthew to wake up. Second of all, I didn't pry anything from you. I asked about your family." Clary was heated now. "I haven't held back with you at all, the absolute freaking least you could tell me about yourself is whether you have a freaking sibling or not!" Her voice had grown in volume as well, and she paused to take a deep breath and collect herself.

"It's none of your damn business, Clary." Jace hissed at her. "I don't need my girlfriend digging around in my life."

Her eyes widened at his accusation. "Jace, I'm your girlfriend! We've been dating for seven months. If you seriously think that I'm prying into your private affairs from some weird, underhanded purpose, you really need to reevaluate what's going on here." Clary's voice was spitting fire, her hands gesturing wildly.

"Save it," Jace growled. "My family isn't your damn business."

"Jace," Clary shrieked, "I'm asking because I love you! I want to make your business my business because I love you." She froze a second after the words had bubbled to the surface. Jace looked at her dumbly, pale and shocked and still. They stood, unblinkingly staring at each other for what felt like an eternity before Jace moved.

"Decide what you want to do tomorrow. I'll pick you up at nine." He turned on his heel and walked out.

"Don't bother," Clary shot at him as he slammed the door behind him.

She took a deep, shuddering breath as a tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She angrily brushed it away, turning and stalking towards the bathroom, mechanically going through the motions of getting ready for bed. She brushed her teeth. She tamed her curls into a ponytail. She changed her clothes and finally fell into bed.

She did not sleep well, tossing and turning in light of the argument with Jace. She didn't understand his reluctance to share details about his personal life. It was the first time she had asked about it, and she wanted nothing more than to get to know him on a deeper level.

Turning over, she closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.

…

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…

**Sort of short chapter, but the next two will make up for it, I promise. **


	22. Chapter 22

Clary woke from a restless, dreamless sleep around four o'clock in the morning. She turned to her side, then back again. Other side, back again. She had only slept for about two hours. She groaned and scrubbed at her eyes, knowing she was too upset to go back to sleep. She pulled the light blanket over her head like she did when she was a little girl, taking comfort in the habits of the past.

She was angry. She was frustrated. She was hurt.

She just wanted to know why Jace had reacted like that. He had almost been violent, and for a moment last night, she had been scared.

She started reviewing the last seven months in her mind. She thought over their relationship and what they had each given. Clary had told Jace everything. She did not hold back. He knew everything about her – the story of her parents, the story of Matthew's birth, everything. She didn't even know what his mother's name was.

Was he ashamed? Was he embarrassed by the fact that she was a teenage cautionary tale?

Sighing, she ran a hand down her face and rolled to the side of the bed so she could swing her feet over the edge and stand up. One more heavy sigh as she trudged to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She had two hours yet before she needed to get her son up and ready for school. She mercifully had the day from work, and though she had originally intended to spend it with Jace, she would more than likely now spend it in bed or completing household chores that had woefully been ignored in the last three weeks.

She finished the pot of coffee and started another as she stood to start cleaning.

She began obsessively wiping down counters, gathering dust and fallen crumbs with a broom, fluffing couch cushions and washing dishes.

At 6:10, she gathered the ingredients for French toast and prepared a breakfast for Mattie. At 6:35, she woke and gently ushered him to the table where he sleepily sat and ate his food before brushing his teeth and getting dressed for school.

After another half an hour, they left the apartment, Matthew skipping and Clary dragging.

…

..

…

Jace paced anxiously in his room. It was quarter of nine, and he was supposed to pick Clary up in fifteen minutes. He groaned and dropped onto his bed. He was stupid; he had gotten angry at Clary last night when she started asking questions. She could not understand that he didn't want to talk or even think about his past. He certainly wasn't used to girls asking about him and actually caring. It had thrown him off. Deep inside, he knew that Clary was probably only asking to get closer to him, but his past experiences were working against him, and the anger he had felt nearly transformed to violence. He was ashamed.

He groaned again and covered his eyes with his hands. He was an ass. He righted himself and grabbed his wallet and keys off of the nightstand and headed to his car. He did not text or call her first, and he got to Clary's apartment ten minutes late, but he steadied himself and knocked. He sensed that she was on the other side of the door, but she did not open right away.

"Clary, it's me. Let me in." Jace said as he leaned against the door. He heard the tumblers turn over as she unlocked and carefully opened the door. Her body blocked the entry way, and she fixed him with a dark stare.

"Clary, look," Jace started, but she held up her hand to stop him.

"Don't." She said strongly. "Just don't. I'm done, Jace." Her eyes held his.

"What do you mean, you're done?" Jace asked, crinkling his eyes confusedly.

Clary sighed. "Come in and sit down. We need to talk." She stepped back to allow him through and he stepped in the room.

"Clary," Jace began again, but she interrupted him.

"Sit," she said brusquely, pointing at the kitchen table where a single cup of coffee sat dejectedly on the fake marble top. He did as she said, a sinking feeling tightening in his stomach.

Clary sat across from him and leaned back in her chair, sighing as she crossed her arms over her chest protectively. "I mean, I'm done, Jace."

"Done with what?" Jace scoffed, outwardly showing no emotion, although a slow panic was rising in his chest.

Clary leveled a glance at him, a long, enduring glance. "Us."

"No." Jace retorted.

"Yes," Clary answered. "I'm not doing this anymore."

"Doing what? We're in a relationship; we had a fight, and now we're over it. We have plans today, so go get dressed." He stood and held out a hand to her.

"Jace, stop. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Yes."

"Jace," Clary shrieked, her hands in the air in exasperation, "for once, you are going to sit down and listen to me. You are going to listen and then you're going to do as I say for _once _in your life." A note of deadly seriousness crept into her voice as she pointed at his chair. He sat, stunned and subdued at her outburst.

"When I say I'm done Jace, I mean it. I can't keep doing this." Clary shook her head and lifted the mug to take another sip of the cold coffee. "I walk on eggshells around you. Last night I told you I love you and you basically ran away from me. I asked you if you have a brother or sister and I thought you were going to hit me." Jace sat forward to take her hand, a heartbroken look on his face.

"Clary, I would never-"

She cut him off again and pulled her hand back out of his reach. "Jace, you don't love me. It's that simple." She paused. "And I don't want to keep pretending that I'm not in love with you so that you'll stick around." She looked down at her folded hands, trying to avoid Jace's hard, hurt stare. "I think that we just need to cut our losses and get out of this before either one of us gets hurt again." Finally, she looked back to him.

Jace stood and stumbled forward, kneeling before her. He put his hands in her lap, "Yes, I do, Clary, I do. I swear to you, I love you. Please, don't leave me." He looked at her desperately broken and desperately hoping.

She touched his face gently, "No, Jace, you don't." She bit the inside of her cheek and sighed. "You love the _idea_ of being with me. You feel safe. We take care of each other, so you feel protected and loved." She paused to take a shaky breath. "But anytime I try to get closer to you, you just push me away. It happened the first time we slept together, it happened when I told you about myself, hell, it happened last night." She laughed uncertainly, unsure of how else to react to his pleading before she looked down into Jace's agonized eyes and wished beyond hope that they could make it out of this unscathed.

Jace surged forward and met her lips with his. He pulled her in tight, kissing her with bruising force and holding the sides of her face against him. "No," he breathed against her mouth, "that's not it at all. We're good together. We'll make it work. We just hit a rough patch." While one of his arms still held her tight against him, his free hand crept up the bottom of her shirt, sliding across the bare skin, so soft and inviting against his fingertips as he searched higher and higher before skimming the edge of her bra. He tried to pull her out of her chair and onto the floor, where he planned to take her so high that she forgot all of this fighting.

Clary struggled against him, but that only made him clutch her tighter. "Jace," she tried to pull back, tried to get away, but it was futile.

"I can't be without you, Clary. I won't." Jace's eyes sparked and his face set with determination when he pulled back from her.

"You have to." Clary raised her voice and pushed against him with both hands, setting them apart and getting some distance from him. "Jace, I'm not going to be a kept woman because your family sucks. You act like you own me; buying me stuff, running over what I say I want," She was being harsh now, and as much as she hated it, it was necessary. With a staggering pain in her heart, she watched Jace flinch back and look away. "It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to you, and I'm done." She looked at him despairingly, begging him to understand.

"Clary," he whispered, emotion taking over his face and making him look like little boy. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Jace." She whispered. He looked her straight in the eye and seeing her seriousness, dropped his face to her lap. His arms wrapped around her waist and his voice came out muffled.

"I do love you, Clary, I do." Jace felt tears leak from the corners of his eyes and nearly startled. He had not cried in thirteen years and now, this little girl, this fiery little redhead had brought him to his knees in pure emotion. The boy who never cried, who never felt anything, was crying like a baby in the arms of a woman.

Clary felt tears coming and she looked up, holding them back before rubbing her hands down over Jace's smooth and muscled back. She shook her head dejectedly. "Maybe a part of you does, Jace," her voice surprisingly steady, "I don't know. I just know that it's not the right part." Jace's body shook against hers and she closed her eyes and nodded.

"But I need you," Jace grunted against her stomach as he nuzzled his lips against her.

"But not in the way I need you," Clary answered as she lifted his face from her belly. Jace's tearstained face gave her pause.

"Fine, maybe that's true, but isn't it better to pretend? That way we're both happy." Jace threw out in desperation, knowing it was the wrong thing to say but needing to keep the conversation going until Clary changed her mind.

A pitying look crossed Clary's face when she said, "No. That's not fair to either of us." Jace's tried to let his face fall to her again, but Clary held him back and looked him square in the eye. "I think that you need to go."

Jace opened his mouth to protest, but slowly realized it would be futile. He stood and leaned over, kissing Clary once more, softly and lovingly. "This is not over, Clary. It will never be over. I won't let it be. I'm not giving up."

Clary looked at him silently for a minute, the only emotion on her face betrayed by her eyes, simultaneously burning and misting, before saying, "Goodbye, Jace."

She stood to close and lock the door behind him, sliding down the doorframe to the floor, arms wrapped around herself as she cried silent tears. Her body shook with the sobs until she ached. She didn't know how much time had passed before she crawled to her feet and collapsed into her bed where she fell to an immediate and deep sleep.

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Jace somehow ended up at a bar. He didn't know which bar, he didn't know how he got there, he didn't know why they were open at eleven in the morning, but he was there and he was drunk. Whiskey, beer, scotch, tequila, vodka – he drank it all, and he drank it indiscriminately. Mixing alcohol was the best way he could think of to get Clary off of his mind.

The blonde bartender refilled his glass as he sloppily nodded at her. She shook her head and clicked her tongue at him, knowing that he was far too gone to realize that the "vodka" she had just poured was actually water. She was brewing a pot of coffee at the moment that was about to replace everything else.

Jace guzzled it down all the same, accustomed to the comforting burn and sting of the drinks but too drunk to notice that there was none. The song playing through the speakers changed to one that reminded him of Clary, and he meant to flag down the waitress to change it, but instead slipped drunkenly from his seat and ended up on the floor. The bartender leaned over worriedly before running around the edge of the wooden bar to pick him up and lead him into the back room. She gently laid him out on the cot and retrieved the first aid kit from the manager's office. He had gashed his forehead on his way to the floor, and while it was not serious, she wanted to get it cleaned and covered.

He laid still as she swiped an antiseptic pad over the shallow cut, applied triple antibiotic ointment, and a flesh colored adhesive bandage. His eyes had fluttered closed, and she thought he was asleep, but when she pulled away from her careful work, his long, slim fingers curled around her wrist.

"Do you do this often?" He slurred, his bright golden eyes looking up at her.

"Do what?" She asked softly as she brushed a golden curl out of his face.

"Rescue poor, drunk idiots like me." He murmured as his eyes closed again and then jerked back open.

"I'm used to drunk people falling, if that's what you mean," she smiled at him.

"What's your name?" He asked her.

"Shelley," she answered quietly. He responded with his name. "It's nice to meet you, Jace." She spoke quietly, trying not to exacerbate the headache that she knew he must have. He murmured and muttered unintelligibly. "That girl must have really done a number on you."

His eyes opened again, wide enough that she could see the bloodshot corners. "What did you say?" He whispered.

"I know a bad breakup when I see one," she replied quietly. "What happened?" she asked shyly, "If you want to talk about it, I mean."

Jace did not say anything at first. Then, "She ended it because she thinks I don't love her." His eyes were heavy, full of heartbreak and anguish.

"Do you?" Shelley responded softly.

Jace again did not answer for a while. With his eyes closed, she thought that he had fallen asleep again. "I don't know what love is." Jace mumbled, his words running together like the notes of song, indistinguishable from one another, yet poignant enough to express the message that they carried. Those were the last words Shelley ever heard him speak as his body slackened and he drifted to sleep.

She looked down at him sadly. "I get it." Her voice was so low that she barely heard it. Knowing that he was no longer with her, she leaned over and kissed his forehead, undid the top three buttons of his shirt and removed his shoes before drawing the blanket over him and returning to work.

…

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…

Jace woke slowly, rousing himself from a deep sleep. His body was stiff and his head ached. A squeaking noise as he stirred told him that he was in an unfamiliar place, and the memories of early came rushing back to him. Music pulsed into the room and set him on edge.

He groaned and sat as he looked around the strange room. His shoes were gone and his shirt was unbuttoned. He remembered a blonde woman, a lot of drinking, and Clary's final goodbye. He dropped his head into his hands and looked at his watch. It was nearing eight o'clock. He remembered he was in a bar – that explained the music. He slid his feet into his shoes and rubbed the back of his neck. Checking for his wallet and phone, he stood. He took his best guess as to which door led out of the back room and twisted the knob, relieved when it opened to reveal the crowded bar. The bartender turned around, and he was disappointed to see that it was a brunette man, not the blonde woman from earlier.

"There was a girl here?" Jace asked confusedly, his head still pounding a rhythm that did not match the music from the bar.

"Yeah, Shelley." He confirmed. "She's gone for the day," the man answered before turning back to his customer. He poured a drink, and then reached around Jace to grab a slip of paper. "Here's your tab. You can pay over there." He pointed in the direction of the cash register where another man was standing. Jace looked at the bill for a few moments before glancing back at guy who was now looking at him incredulously. "You can go now." He motioned toward the door, eager to get back to his busy line.

"Right. Thanks." Jace cleared his throat and made his way to the other line where he paid the forty five dollar tab and left a fifty dollar tip. On the receipt he simply wrote three words: thank you, Shelley.

"Can you see that she gets this, please?" The attendant nodded and Jace left. He climbed into his car and drove aimlessly for a while, still in shock over the previous night. After forty five minutes of directionless anger, he made up his mind and turned the car around.

It took him another half an hour to arrive at his destination. He had been there so many times that the drive was effortless, almost like he was on autopilot. He pulled up the long, dusty, winding road and parked. He took a deep, bracing breath before exiting the car and entering the building. He walked down the long corridor, the heels of his boots sending ominous, echoing taps racing along the tiled floor. He nodded at the woman at the desk who smiled sadly at him, knowing what he was there for and recognizing him after his many fruitless trips to that room.

He paused outside of her room, his hand on the doorknob before he pressed the button that would allow him in. He stepped inside and closed the door, breathing in the sickening sterile smell and allowing his eyes time to adjust to the dark of the room. In the bed lay a frail woman. He made his way across and sat in the chair before reaching over to take her hand.

"Hi, Mom." He breathed.

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**I would like to say thank you to everyone who keeps up with this story. I know that I am a terrible writer and even worse at updating, so the fact that you guys all still stick around really just excites me to no end. **

**Of course, I don't own the Mortal Instruments series and I am not Cassandra Clare.**

**Let me know what you think! **


	23. Chapter 23

"Hi Mom," Jace breathed as he reached out to take her hand. She did not move, save for her eyes darting back and forth beneath her eyelids. "Mom, I need help," Jace's voice broke, but no tears fell. He shivered a little in the coldness of the room and reach to tuck the blanket tighter around her shoulders. He fell back into the chair, pressing against the hard plastic and crossing his arms.

"There's this girl." Jace shook his head and cleared his throat. "Actually, there _was_ this girl." He sighed. "She left. And she was right to, I guess."

Jace's eyes flicked from his mother's face to the small window at the other side of the room. The sun was set, and they were far enough outside the city that he could see the stars starting to peek out against the dusky sky. There was silence for a few moments; the only noise came from quiet hum of the machines that she was hooked up to and Jace's uneven breath. The smell of the place took his breath and made him feel sick.

"I'm such a coward, Mom." He said finally. "I just don't know what to do. I want her. I _really_ want her. I want her every morning and every night and I want to cook dinner for her even though I can't cook for shit," he jumped, realizing that he was in his mother's presence, but remembering that she couldn't hear him anyway, so it made no difference. Yet he whispered an apology before continuing, sitting still as a rock and keeping his eyes firmly glued on a little star that seemed so close to the window he could touch it. "I want to cook for her and pick her up from work and then make love to her and play baseball with Mattie and go to work and come home and kiss her," Jace stopped and took a shaky breath, leaning forward again to take his mother's hand. "And I really, really want my mom to wake up and tell me what I should do."

He lifted her limp hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles, sniffing and cradling her palm against his cheek. He was filled with a sudden ache for her; it had been ten years since she had lived with Jace and his father, eleven since she had gotten sick. The beginning was hard; she was gone most of the time, and when she was home, Jace's time with her was limited. After she had been placed in medical care, Jace had seen her even less. That is, until he had gotten his driver's license. After that, he made the trip to the medical center every night. At first, it had been fine. Though his mother was far from alright, she could still sit up and talk. As her health worsened, Jace's trips became fewer and fewer. When she slipped into a coma, he stopped coming altogether. Three months later, he was filled with guilt and resumed his visits. He would make the trip nightly after he finished his classes. Three months later, he was discouraged and once again stopped coming.

She couldn't tell the difference, so what did it matter?

This was his first visit since he'd met Clary. Some of the nurses looked at Jace with pity as he came in. The older ones remembered him as a bright and smiling boy, bouncing golden curls and chattering talk, usually covered in smudges of dirt from playing outside. Others saw him as a bitter rich boy who visited his mother out of obligation. Some saw him for what he really was: broken and hurt and lashing out at the world for all of its unfairness.

"Mom, I need you, please wake up." Jace whispered quietly, reverently. He had prayed and hoped. He had bartered and begged, but there was nothing. The only response his mother offered was the rise and fall of her chest, stimulated by the machines.

Jace gave a shaky sigh in return and sat back in his chair, arms folded and ankles crossed. He closed his eyes. "I'm so tired." He reached up to rub his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm tired of playing basketball and going to classes. I'm tired of you being sick and I'm tired of Dad always riding my ass about everything. I haven't even seen him in over two months and I can still feel his disappointment. I'm tired of being away from Clary and it's only been," he paused and glanced at his watch, "thirteen hours since I saw her. And now I can't see her anymore anyway.

"Mom, I think I love her." Jace took another shaky breath, admitting to himself for the first time that he might feel something more for Clary. He had said it earlier this morning, but he had been desperate and blurted it out with no real explanation. "I don't know. It's too late now." He grunted as he shifted around, trying in vain to get comfortable in the painfully uncomfortable seat. He gave up and settled back, crossing his arms again and scowling. "I blame you and Father. You never gave me an example of what love looks like. Hell, you barely even spoke" He sighed, guilt striking his heart. "I don't mean that," he muttered. "Sorry." He looked back at her peaked and pale face.

"I don't think you would like me very much, Mom. I'm mean." His words were simple. He was being truthful, though it physically hurt him to say the next few words. "I think I'm more like Dad than I am like you." He bit his lip and looked down. "That really sucks to say out loud and acknowledge. I just don't know how to fix it." Jace leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of her bed, pretending for a moment that the movement it caused was actually his mother reacting to his words, not just an effect of him jostling the bed. He rested his chin on his hands and looked down at her. "It's my fault that Clary left. I yelled at her for asking about you. I've never told anyone about you. Not even Alec, technically. He just guessed that you were holed up somewhere far away. He doesn't know that you're sick. He just thinks that you're a deadbeat. I don't care though. It's better this way. This way he's not forcing himself down our throats. But Clary," his words broke off. "Clary's different. I actually wanted to tell her the truth, I just couldn't. I don't know why I couldn't. I'm so messed up." Jace reached out to play with her fingers, picking at the simple gold wedding band on her third finger.

"I think that you would have liked Clary. She's sweet. But man, is she ever fiery. She's got quite the temper. She's got a son too. He's five- no wait, he's six now. He just had a birthday not too long ago. He's a cool little kid. He likes baseball a lot. It's actually really crazy; I know his dad. I play with his dad. Sebastian. He raped Clary when she was fifteen." Even now, Jace felt anger stirring in his chest. "The son of a bitch raped her and left her with a kid." He realized that he was squeezing his mother's hand too tightly when he felt the cool metal of the ring pressing painfully into his palm. "She's a great mom. Just like you were. Are." Jace corrected himself. "And I love her. I know now that I do. I love her and it's too late because I was a dick and I screwed up one too many times and I lost her. She's probably going to find some great guy who knows how to treat her and she'll marry him and then they'll have, like, twenty kids and a huge house and a really happy life and I'll just be here, by myself, talking to my comatose mother and drinking myself into a stupor even an alcoholic would envy."

Jace sat up and cleared his throat. "Some kid you gave birth to, huh, Mom?" He chuckled once and reached for her hand again.

Just then a knock at the door sounded and the nurse who had been sitting at the desk when he walked in poked her head through the door. "Jace, sweetheart, it's almost eleven o'clock. Visiting hours were over an hour ago." He recognized her from his many trips; she had been working at the medical center for as long as he could remember. He nodded and stood, leaning over to kiss his mother's forehead and gently squeeze her hand.

"I'll see you soon, Mom. Love you," He whispered against the cool skin of her temple.

He stepped around his chair and moved toward the door, nodding as the nurse waddled out of his way and held the door open for him. "Has there," he cleared his throat, "Has there been any kind of change? At all?" He whispered the last two words hopefully, his voice low and tight.

She looked at him in pity. "No, son. I'm afraid there hasn't been."

Jace nodded once and cast his eyes downward as he walked out of the medical center and to his car.

…

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…

Clary closed the door as Jace walked out, his shoulders slumped. She braced her back against the door, listening to Jace's footsteps echo down the hall, fading into silence as he walked away. She slid down, fatigue and misery sinking into her as the tears welled behind her eyes. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself and hold it together. It didn't work. Big, fat tears crashed down over her cheeks as wracking sobs burst from her body. She wrapped her arms around herself and buried her face in the crook of her elbows, knowing that she had made the right decision, but regretting it nonetheless.

She loved Jace beyond what her words could express, but he didn't feel the same. As good as it may feel in the moment, as perfect as it was to pretend, she couldn't live in the world anymore. A world of delusion and make-believe happiness was not the place for a twenty-one year old mother who could barely make rent every month. She had a son and he took precedence. Everything she did had to be for his benefit and playing house with Jace was no way to provide for her son.

Though her tears had not yet stopped, she stood and locked the door before making her way to her bed, collapsing on the lumpy mattress and shoving her face into the pile of pillows she had amassed from thrift stores and cheap street sales. She tugged the blankets over her head, letting the warmth wash over her face. Her eyes grew heavy and she sniffed, trying to erase the evidence of her sobs. Her mind drifted and she was soon asleep.

She woke a few hours later with a clearer head. She was thankful that she had the day off, even though she wasn't spending it as she had originally planned. She still had about three hours before she had to pick Mattie up at his after-school program, so she rallied herself, standing up and undressing to get in the shower. The scalding water helped clear her head as she stood there and let the water pour over her. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest while she closed her eyes and breathed in the humid air that the water threw off. Her mind, for the first time in a while, was empty. She didn't think of anything – not Jace, not the bills that were due next week, not the fact that she had to be to work early tomorrow, not that she had places to be and things to do.

She simply took in the heat from the shower and the pleasantness of it. The relaxation. The calm.

Sighing, she worked the cheap shampoo through her hair, combing the curls with her fingers as she rinsed the suds away, carefully avoiding her eyes. Happiness couldn't last forever. She shut off the water and stepped out, tightly wrapping a towel around her, trying to conserve as much heat as possible as she braced herself against the chill. Dorothea hadn't turned on the furnace yet, and in the rapidly cooling October air, Clary had been dressing herself and her son in flannels and sweatshirts earlier than usual this year.

Refreshed after her nap, Clary had more of her usual bounce. She tried to refuse to think of Jace as she gathered her clothes – a pair of well-worn jeans, a faded Clash t-shirt, and an oversized, paint-splattered flannel – but as she reached into the drawers of her dresser, the first shirt she pulled out was Jace's. She let the towel drop and stood in her bedroom, naked and shivering, as she stared at the black thermal. Her eyes fell closed as she thought back to where it came from. Jace had given it to her a few days ago to sleep in; he was _always_ hot, and he had peeled it off to go to bed, tossing it to her, laughing and saying, "What can I say, Fray? I run hot. Besides, my clothes look better on you anyway."

Clary opened her eyes and brought the shirt to her face, rubbing it against her cheek and breathing in Jace's scent. She hit a brick wall of memories before angrily throwing it to the side. She scoffed and shook her head as she picked up the clothes she had just gathered, yanking them on her body and wrestling her wet hair until a messy bun sat squarely atop her head. From there she whirled around her apartment, a furious tornado of activity as she grabbed anything and everything that Jace had left there. She hurled it onto her bed, promising herself that she would get boxes at the grocery store when she went for supplies.

She had no idea that Jace had so much _stuff_ that had migrated to her place.

Clary read somewhere that there were seven stages of a breakup. She thought hard, trying to recall what the article said. She remembered that shock led to something, led to something else, led to depression, led to anger. She was past shock and depression. Now she was angry.

She was beyond angry – she was furious. She was pissed that Jace had led her on for so long, and she was pissed that she had let herself be led on. She reasoned that acceptance was the last stage and that she would get there eventually. Probably. Until then, however, she would rip apart her room to rid every last trace of him. A hoodie here, a t-shirt there. A pair of basketball shorts she had commandeered to sleep in the other night, leaving him to sleep in only his boxers, an arrangement that they both preferred.

Or rather, used to prefer.

She spent another half an hour scouring the tiny apartment for any sign of Jace. Confident that she had dug out everything that belonged to him, she left it in a heap on her bed, spun on her heel, grabbed her wallet and was out the door. It was about a fifteen minute walk to the grocery store that she preferred, and she set out, enjoying the cool, crisp air that filled her lungs, pressing against her heart and pushing out the pain, even if just for a few minutes. For the time being, she could pretend that everything was normal and right.

_Does this qualify as the denial stage?_ She wondered to herself as she pulled the door open and stepped inside the bigger-than-a-bodega-yet-smaller-than-a-real-store market and grabbed a cart. She moved quickly through the aisles, grabbing the essentials like bread, milk, cheese, lunchmeat, crackers, and juice. She paused at the liquor aisle. Knowing that night would come and that this positive attitude would disappear, she reached for the cheapest bottle of vodka she could find, a very un-Clary-like action. She didn't like beer, and wine reminded her of her first real date with Jace. Besides that, the people in the movies always chose either tequila or vodka because it did the trick, and it did it fast. Cost was the deciding factor, plus the vodka was on a lower shelf, so she could actually reach it without climbing.

She made her way to the front of the store to check out, gathering the three large, brown, paper bags in her arms and strode through the door. She peeked behind her and dashed around to the rear entrance where the broken down boxes were kept until recycling day. Setting the bags down and tossing her flannel over them to hide them from the unlikely passerby, Clary hoisted herself into the green dumpster and waded through the mess of cardboard, randomly grabbing two or three that seemed to be in decent condition and tossing them over the side. She followed suit, unfolding the largest to lay the others inside of it, and then layer her groceries on top. She felt and looked clumsy, but it was the easiest way to carry everything at once. She lifted it and walked off.

The walk home took her a little longer than usual, and sweat beaded on her forehead. She fumbled with her keys in the lock before struggling up the stairs to her room. Setting everything down on the table, she collapsed, panting, in the chair. She unpacked the groceries and then packed Jace's belongings and left them by the door. Glancing at the clock, she gathered her wallet and flannel and left to go pick up her son.

Several hours later, after Clary had prepared supper for the two of them and they were cuddling on the couch, Matthew noticed the box of Jace's things by the door. He motioned to it, asking, "Mommy, what is that? Why is Jace's stuff in a box? Where is Jace?"

Clary sighed and pulled him closer to kiss his forehead. "Jace is gone, Buddy,"

He pulled away from her, craning his neck to look up at Clary. "Gone where? Is he coming back?"

Clary bit her lip and looked at him sadly, trying her hardest not to let the tears fall. "No, Baby, he isn't coming back."

"Ever?" Matthew asked incredulously.

"I don't think so." Clary answered quietly, brushing a tiny blonde curl out of his face.

"Why? Why did you send him away?" Matthew was close to panicking now, looking at his mother's face with a scared expression.

"No, Honey, I didn't send him away, I just-"

"Mommy, where is Jace? I want him back." He started to cry, curling up against Clary's shoulder. She pulled away so that she could look him in the eye.

"Jace is gone, Mattie. He isn't going to come back. He's out living his life right now. He's going to go play basketball and do his own thing. You and me are just going to keep living here, doing our thing and having fun and eating grilled cheese sandwiches, okay? We're all going to be just fine."

"But I want Jace back," he was calmer, but his voice still broke and shook, making Clary's heart break and tears well.

"I know, Baby. I do too, but sometimes, people just don't get to see each other anymore. And that's what happened now." She kissed his forehead again, desperately wishing that Jace had been more mature, had been honest, had done anything but this so that this little boy wouldn't be so broken. "It'll get better, I promise." She pulled away from him and wiped his tears away with her thumbs, gently pinching his cheeks. "Now go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. You have school in the morning."

Mattie's face was still tearstained and upset, but he did as he was told and shuffled off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. She chased him off to bed when he was done and closed his door. She heard him toss and turn for a few moments, but the little boy was soon still and sleeping.

Clary just turned and reached for the vodka bottle she had hidden on the top shelf of the freezer.

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**Another chapter down. Reviews please? That would make my day… and my finals week. *wink wink***

**Any ideas about upcoming events? Only I know for sure, but I do love hearing what you guys think is going on. **

**Love you all!**


	24. Chapter 24

The bottle of vodka was sitting out on the table. Clary sat across from it, staring it down as though she could intimidate it one way or another. She sighed, reached, and pulled back. Over and over again she went through this routine. After what seemed like an eternity, she found her courage. She reached and closed her fingers around the long, thin neck of the bottle and pulled it across the table towards her. Confidently, she unscrewed the cap and lifted it to her lips. She knew that she shouldn't. That was one lesson she had learned from her mother; don't drink when emotions were running high. Alcohol didn't mix well with grief or anger.

Clary had both, but she was in no mood to stop and think and wallow.

She took a tentative sip and cringed and spluttered. She coughed vodka out all over the table and gasped. "It burns, it burns," she managed to get out. She pushed the bottle away and stood to get a dishrag to wipe up the mess on the table. A few moments later, when the table was once again spotless, she sat back down and looked at the bottle.

Her stubbornness kicked in. She should have taken it as a sign, the burn and inability to swallow the liquid fire, but at that point, she couldn't let it win.

Now prepared for what would come, she retrieved a cup from the cupboard and poured some of the clear drink over ice.

"Okay, Fray. It's just like the movies. Throw it back and swallow. Don't think about it." She mentally prepared herself and lifted the glass. Tilted her head back. Swallowed.

She coughed and gasped for breath again, feeling the warmth rise from her stomach to the back of her throat through her limbs. She kept it down this time. She repeated the process, pouring a small amount into the glass over the ice and then knocking it back. On the third glass, she felt a little dizzy. On the fifth, she felt a little nauseated. On the seventh, she stood on wobbly legs and laughed to herself before she tripped over to the sink to toss her cup, ignoring the tinkling sound of breaking glass before quickly spinning around and pitching forward onto the floor.

She guessed she was drunk now.

She didn't mind it though as she half-crawled, half-walked towards the table to take one more long draw straight from the bottle before capping it and stowing it in the freezer. She felt like her head was about to spin right off of her body.

She couldn't contain herself anymore; first she laughed, then she cried. She took her clothes off and danced around the kitchen and then collapsed on the floor and curled in on herself. No rational thoughts entered her mind. She experienced all of the highs and lows of the past few days again, but this time they were amplified by the alcohol. She carried on for a while longer before she didn't remember anything else.

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…

There was a fierce pounding in Clary's head. It thudded and pulsed behind her eyes and throbbed at the base of her skull. She groaned and whimpered as she turned over and buried her head under the pillow. She had never actually been hungover before, but she assumed that this was it. Headache, dry mouth, leaden body. Everything hurt. She hesitantly pulled her head from underneath the pillow and glanced at the clock. It read 7:32 a.m. A sudden, overwhelming panic made everything hurt even worse. Throwing the covers back, she reeled forward, falling off the bed and landing hard on her outstretched hand. Ignoring that extra pain, she called for Matthew as she sprinted to her closet and wrenched her work uniform off of its hanger. She twisted her hair into a bun and hopped across the floor as she tugged her shoes on. 7:38 a.m. She yanked her bedroom door open to see her son in the living room calmly putting on his own shoes. His clothes didn't match and his hair was sticking up in strange tufts since he didn't comb it correctly, but he was awake and dressed. He could at least pass the dress code that his school had.

"Mattie, are you ready for school? Did you eat?" Clary was crazed as she raced around, trying to pack a lunch for Matthew. She barely heard him reply "Yes," before she looked at the clock in the kitchen and cursed quietly to herself. "Screw it," she whispered. She reached for her purse and pulled her last few wrinkled dollar bills out. She tucked them deep into his pockets. She leaned back and said, "Today is special. You get to buy your lunch at school, okay? You can have whatever you want as long as you don't spend more than four dollars." She grabbed his hand and hauled him out the door at 7:43.

They ran almost the entire way to the school and Clary pushed him through the door with a breathless, "I love you, and have a good day, Baby." He had three minutes to spare, she did not. She burst through the back door of Taki's two minutes late, sprinting for the machine that recorded the staff's time in and time out. Her timecard read 8:04. She sighed and turned, still panting and shaking from her run and aching head, to get her apron off of the rack. She jumped when she saw the blonde woman with crossed arms and a caustic smirk.

"Five minutes late, Clarissa. What a shame." Kaelie's voice dripped acid.

"Four," Clary replied, shooting a look that was just as dirty and annoyed back at her. She reached around the woman to get an apron and tied it as she walked into the dining room, ignoring the words that called after her.

"What's the matter? Did the brat die or something? He's probably better off."

Clary froze. She slowly turned on her heel and look Kaelie square in the eye. The next thing she knew, before she even had time to think or stop herself, Clary's hand rocketed out and connected with Kaelie's cheek. Her head flew to the side and her hand came up to cradle her flamingly red cheek.

"Don't you ever say that again," Clary's pointer finger shook in Kaelie's face, which was running through a gamut of emotions – pain, humiliation, anger – as Clary trembled with rage. "You don't ever so much as mention my son again, ever." Kaelie stood up, her other cheek just as red as her fury boiled and she looked down. "I mean it," Clary continued, "So help me, if you ever speak about my son like that again, I will do much worse than slap you. You don't know anything about us."

Kaelie reached out and wrapped her hands around Clary's bun and yanked her closer, pulling her down towards the ground. "Don't _you_ ever threaten me again, little girl." She pushed Clary away and into the counter, causing Clary's back to crack up against the hard wood. She hissed at the pain and launched herself back at the blonde.

Hands flew and hair was pulled and cheeks were left stinging against loud, resounding slaps.

Suddenly, the two were separated, a cook and Taki himself each grabbing one of the girls and yanking them apart. "In my office, now," Taki barked. The little pride that Clary felt at seeing Kaelie's nose bleeding quickly evaporated when the reality of the situation hit her. She was going to be fired.

The two women and the portly, older man filed into the cramped office in the back of the diner. "What happened?" Taki growled. "I don't need two of my waitresses fighting in the kitchen during the morning rush, so you better have a damn good reason for this." He raged quietly.

Kaelie sat with her arms crossed. "It's all her fault!" She burst out. "She attacked me. Viciously! I should have her charged with assault!" Kaelie's eyebrows hit her hairline and she pointed at Clary while her voice hit a pitch that made Clary's headache even worse. The simpering pout on Kaelie's face just irritated Clary even more.

"After you insulted my son." Clary pointed out coolly. "You told me it would be good if he were dead." Clary felt a little guilt at embellishing the story, but she knew that Kaelie would certainly be doing the same, and she needed to protect herself and her job. She needed the work a lot more than Kaelie did. At least Kaelie would make a good prostitute, if worse came to worst.

"I didn't! That's a lie!" Kaelie screeched. Taki covered his ears and shook his head.

"I might expect this behavior more from Kaelie than you, Clary." He pointed out, looking steadily at Clary.

"That is not fair!" Kaelie squealed, "Taki that's not true at all!"

"Be quiet," he boomed.

"But-"

Taki shot a look at her, and Kaelie sat back in her chair and pouted, knowing that the argument was futile. Taki looked to Clary for an explanation.

Clary crossed her arms and looked down before licking her dry lips and opening her mouth to answer. "I had a very rough night. I was about five minutes late," out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kaelie's face screw up as she mockingly mouthed the word "four," but Clary ignored her. "And Kaelie, in a very nasty way, asked if my son died." She looked up at Taki. "I slapped her and she retaliated."

Taki sighed and shook his head. "I should fire you both."

"No, you should just fire her," Kaelie shot back.

Taki ignored her as he leaned back in his creaking chair. He crossed his arms and sighed. "Both of you go home. Don't come back for two weeks. I'll put you on different shifts and you won't work together anymore."

Kaelie snorted air through her nose, made a sound of indignancy, stood, and flounced out. Clary stood, but hesitated.

"What?" Taki asked, not lifting his head from his hand.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I know that that was really generous of you," she paused as Taki lifted his head to look at her and Clary tucked her lips into her mouth to consider for a moment how she could say this. "But I don't think that I can afford to not work." Her words were halting and awkward, and she knew that she had no right to be heard, but she prayed that Taki would see her earnestly pleading and show mercy. "Please, sir, I know that I have no right to ask and you're well within your bounds to fire me, but please, is there anything else that I can do?"

"Well can you afford to be fired?" He snapped. Clary's eyes and face fell and she shook her head. "Take this deal, Fray. I like you, but it's all I'm giving you. Come back in two weeks or don't come back at all." She nodded her head and thanked him before backing out of the office. As she retreated to the kitchen, she could feel the panic rise up. She couldn't forgo a two weeks' worth of wages and tips. She couldn't even go a week without earning some kind of income.

This was a problem. She wouldn't be able to grocery shop. She would _barely _be able to pay this month's rent.

This was far, far worse than a problem.

…

…

…

Jace was in his room in the apartment he shared with Alec, lying on his bed and throwing a basketball in the air over and over again, practicing his passing form. That was his downfall as a point guard; he didn't like to pass. Sharing had never been his strong suit.

Alec had gone out, so Jace's music was louder than it should be; the bass thumped through the walls and the singer's rapping words carried through the air. Jace caught the ball and held it out in front of him, still lying on his back. He turned his head to the side; the paper-wrapped package propped in the far corner of the room had caught his eye. He sighed and sat up, dropping the ball and letting it set on the bed between his legs. He stood.

The brown paper crinkled as he picked it up, weighed it in his hands. He'd bought the canvases and paints a few weeks ago. He had been planning on giving them to Clary for Christmas as an attempt to get her to paint again. He had seen the way that she looked at the artists on the streets, the longing and wistfulness on her face was as clear as day. It was obvious that she missed painting. He had been hoping to give that part of her back.

Not that there was much use for those supplies now.

Unlike the last time they had been separated, Jace felt the sense of finality. Clary was right about him. He was scared, and he had only told her that he loved her because he felt trapped and terrified. He did love her, he knew that with an almost absolute certainty now. But what was he supposed to do? Clary had laid herself out for him and he had taken advantage of her. It was only when faced with the prospect of her leaving him that he was able to say his feelings out loud. By then, however, it was too late. Clary could do better, and she would.

As all of this ran through his mind, Jace realized that he still wanted to give the art supplies to Clary. He wanted to give her that little portion of her life back. He wanted to be the one that gave her that little spark and got her back to where she had wanted her life to go. He gently set the package down, stood up and pulled basketball shorts on over his boxers and tugged a hoodie over his head. He reached for his wallet and keys, snatched up the package, and was out the door, not minding the lights or music that were left on. He looked at the time and reasoned that he could leave the box at her door; she would be at work and he could escape without having to go through the pain of seeing her.

It didn't take him long to get to her apartment; traffic was good. He parked down the street and trudged up; the bite of the late October wind on his legs made him feel alive. He didn't notice the little red head that was walking towards him. He turned before he saw her and climbed the flights of stairs. It was only when he stopped outside her door that he saw her. He blushed.

"What are you doing here, Jace?" Clary asked tiredly. Her eye hurt where Kaelie had hit her and she was in no mood to receive romantic gestures. She needed to calm down and work out a solution for her problem.

Jace stammered. He never stammered. "I brought this for you." He paused. "Why aren't you at work?" He hadn't noticed her eye and she wanted to keep it that way.

Clary reached into her pocket to pull out her key ring as she stepped around him, tugging futilely at her bun to loosen her hair enough in an attempt to let it fall over the side of her face. "I mixed up my days. I have off today," she lied. She sighed, but didn't look at him. "Jace, I don't want gifts. I don't want big shows of affection. Save the flowers and chocolate and coffee because I don't want any of it. Just don't do it this time. Please." She opened the door and looked over her shoulder at him.

Jace shook his head. It's not a big romantic thing this time. I promise." He lamely lifted his hand and drew a cross over his heart, a half smile gracing his face. He held out the bag. "I bought this to give to you for Christmas. I didn't want to take it back. I don't know if they'd even let me take it back."

Clary looked at him, puzzled and still angling her head away from him, and reached for it. She peered inside and her eyes went wide. Even the slightest glance told her everything she needed to know. z"Jace, I can't take this. This is high quality stuff. This is, like, crazy expensive." She thrust it back towards him, shaking her head.

"Clary, I don't want to take it back." Jace answered. He stepped inside the door, gently pushing her back into the apartment. "I also don't want to have this conversation in the hallway." He closed the door behind him, ignoring Clary's protests. "Just hear me out and I'll leave, I promise."

Clary sighed, but nodded and moved to put coffee on. She reached up and let her hair down, allowing the crazy curls to spiral and wave around her face, hiding the burgeoning black and blue eye.

Jace cleared his throat and began. "You told me once that you loved painting. You said that painting was your life before you had Matthew. You were going to go to art school, open a gallery. Everything changed and your focus shifted." Jace paused and ran his fingers along the rough edge of the canvas that Clary had pushed back to him. "That's not fair though. You shouldn't have to give up your dreams just because something crappy happened to you."

Clary mechanically poured two cups of coffee, unwillingly moved by his words.

"So I wanted to give you something that could take you back to that. I had no idea what I was doing. I don't know the difference between watercolors and acrylic or any of that stuff, but I told the attendant that you were an artist and I wanted to give you some nice art stuff. She picked everything out and told me that there was a little bit of everything in there since I didn't know what kind of paints you used. She said she picked out the five most popular paint sets and a few different size canvases and that that should get you started?" Jace ended his sentence on a question; he didn't know anything about this and hoped that he hadn't gotten the wrong things. Clary hadn't said anything yet, even in protest, and he was worried. He took the steaming mug that Clary gave him with a murmured thanks. "To be honest, I was so excited about it that I probably wouldn't have even waited until Christmas to give it to you."

Clary sat across from him and the table suddenly felt very small. Her small, slim hands wrapped around her own coffee cup as she lifted it to her lips. She thought hard about what to say.

"Thank you, Jace. I, um," she cleared her throat to dislodge the lump, but she still couldn't speak. After a moment, simple words came. "Thank you." Her eyes rose to meet his, emotion and memories tied up in the deep green as they communicated the words that she wasn't able to get out. Reflected in his golden eyes, she saw the understanding and the reciprocity of her feelings. Their hands started to unconsciously slide across the uneven table surface toward each other. He murmured her name and leaned forward. In a reflexive action, Clary's head tilted up to let her hair fall back away from her face and Jace saw her eye.

"Clary," he breathed in sharply and reached for her face, "what happened?" Clary's hand flew to cover the mark in dismay. The moment was broken.

"Nothing," she mumbled and stood. Jace followed her.

"That's not nothing." He reached for her, but she batted his hands away. "What happened?"

"I told you, it's nothing. I ran into a cabinet at work." She lied, avoiding his eyes.

"No you didn't. That's the outline of a hand. I know what a punch looks like. Someone hit you. Who was it?"

"Jace," she shrieked, suddenly very fed up with his prying, "Enough! I said it's fine. It's not your business anymore." Jace took a deep breath and leaned back.

"Sorry. You're right. I'll go." His eyebrows arched up and he backed up a step. He was hurt by her words. He still cared for her. He still wanted to protect her and keep her safe. He wanted to reach out and cradle her face and take care of her, like she had for him. He turned to leave.

Clary instantly felt guilty. "Jace, wait, I'm sorry." She sighed and he paused. "I know you mean well, but,"

"But it's not my business anymore. I get it."

"I just need to handle this on my own. There was a situation, but it's handled now. It's over and done with."

Jace turned back towards her, the ghost of a sad smile on his lips. "I leave you alone for three days and you end up with a black eye." He reached out and gently stroked the bruise, noting the swelling and discoloration. "You should've called me to handle the line of guys that jumped to take my place."

Clary snorted. "This was a girl." Jace looked taken aback.

"You got into a girl fight and didn't call me to watch?" He looked wounded. "I'm hurt, Clary. Deeply hurt."

Clary giggled, relieved that the tenseness of the moment had passed. Although they were no longer together, she didn't want to part ways on a sour note. "There wasn't too much of a fight, I don't think. It was over pretty quickly."

"What on earth do you have to fight about?" Jace asked, genuinely curious now.

Clary grew quiet and still. After a few moments, she answered: "A girl at work told me that Mattie would be better off dead than with me." She tucked her lips into her mouth and cast her eyes downward, ignoring the tears that threatened to spill. "And I guess I kind of believed her for a few minutes." When she had her emotions in control again, she raised her eyes to find Jace looking livid.

"What?" His voice was low and dangerous. His fists were clenched and his body rigid. "She's wrong." He declared. He took a step towards her and pulled her against his body, needing to feel her against him. He laced a hand through her hair and wrapped the other around her back to pull her flush against him. He noted with a strange sense of relief that her arms circled his waist and she burrowed her face into his chest. "You are the best thing he could ever have. You work yourself to the bone to provide for him, you give up everything so that that little boy has everything he needs. You are an excellent mother. The world needs more people like you in it. Less like her." He jerked his thumb towards the door in an angry motion.

She nodded, silently thanking him for his words. Clary needed to hear that. She loved her son desperately, but she knew that she was lacking in what she could give him. Hearing someone validate that she wasn't a complete screw-up allowed her to breathe a little bit easier. "Thank you," she said, muffled against his chest. She looked up just as Jace looked down. Their eyes met again and their chemistry and position up against each other suddenly hit full force. Jace ever-so-slowly inclined his head, Clary timidly rose up on her toes to touch their lips together, and that was it. Hands pulled and tugged at clothes and hair. Jace lifted Clary and her legs tightened around his waist as their mouths crashed together. Clary tightened her arms around his neck and tried to pull him closer. Her hips rolled against his and Jace groaned deep in the back of his throat.

His long strides crossed the kitchen with no trouble. He pushed her up against the wall, bracing her with his legs as his hands slipped under the yellow dress that she had to wear to work and fanned across her stomach. He lifted up as Clary unlocked the vise grip she had on him to unbutton the top few buttons, allowing Jace to lift the dress off of her body.

Clary returned the favor, scrabbling at the bottom of his hoodie to get him out of it. As she tossed it to the ground, Jace spun away from the wall and laid her on the tabletop. "I've had fantasies about fucking you on the kitchen table, did you know that?" He asked against her lips.

Clary couldn't do anything but mewl as he rubbed up against her heat. Her eyes opened to see his blazing above her.

"You're so beautiful." He leaned down to kiss her. "We need this, Clary. We need us." Jace whispered gently as he lifted her up just enough to unclasp her bra and slide it down her arms. His hands trailed down over her chest and stomach.

Clary snapped out of it. "Wait," she gasped. "Wait." Jace closed his eyes and pulled back, disappointed and hurt and aching for her.

"What?" He whispered, still holding out hope.

"We can't. We can't do this." Clary pushed him back and sat up. The spark that Jace held inside died. "I meant what I said. We can't keep doing this to each other. I can't keep doing this to myself." Clary slid around him and stood to reach for her clothing.

Jace sighed angrily. "Doing what to yourself? Letting yourself feel something?"

"No," Clary answered as she dressed herself, ignoring the heat in her stomach and the ache in her heart. "I can't keep letting myself fall for you. You come in like a hero with gifts and these huge romantic speeches and I slip up and let you back in, even though it's against my best judgment." She tried to level her voice and be patient. Jace wasn't like her; he didn't need to think things through and protect himself from every angle. She had to be cautious.

"Jace, it hurts, okay? Like, it really sucks. I love you, and I want to be with you, but we can't." Clary turned to him, the stress of the day and the leftover hangover catching up to her. She was exhausted. "We aren't compatible."

"Like hell we aren't, Clary," Jace exploded and she startled back. "I love you, you love me, what's so hard about it?"

"Everything!" She yelled right back. "You are not a careful person. You do all this stuff and then when it falls through or every little detail doesn't go _exactly_ according to your plan, you walk away. You freak out, you get pissed and yell and rage and go on and on and then I'm left to pick up the pieces and move on with my life while you just hop along to the next game, the next drink, the next car, whatever!"

"It's different this time," Jace defended himself, "I mean it. I want you, I love you. It's hard but that's no reason to just abandon everything that we've had together. We'll have to work. We're both too stubborn and scared to just have everything come easily to us."

"I don't have time to work on things, Jace. I have a six year old son that I have to protect and provide for." Clary answered coldly.

"There you go again, hiding behind Matt." Jace shot back. "You use him like a crutch to protect yourself."

"So what if I do?" Clary fired. "If I'm dealing with a heartbreak every other day because I'm dealing with the crap that you pull, how can I be a good mom to him? If I hide behind him, it's to protect him."

"That's where you're wrong, Clary." Jace spoke slowly. "If you hide behind him forever, you'll resent him when he gets older. That'll unleash a whole new slew of problems." Jace backed away slowly and picked up his hoodie on the floor. Clary felt her insides crumble. The tiniest part of her knew that he was right. She did hide behind her son sometimes. She felt trapped between a rock and a hard place; she wanted Jace, but she didn't want the hardships that came with him.

"You're right, Clare," Jace smiled sadly and used a nickname that he hoped would draw her back to him, "We can't do this right now. But down the line, we will. You'll see. Eventually, we'll make our way back to each other. We don't have a choice in the matter." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I don't believe in fate, but I believe that. There's something between us that won't stop. We've got a hold on each other. You make me be a better person and I bring you out of that tower you've trapped yourself in. I'm so broken and helpless without you and you're lonely and sheltered without me." He moved towards her again and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, stroked her cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then to her lips. "You'll see."

Then he was gone, and Clary was left to deal with the aftermath of a new heartbreak. She had been well on her way towards a clean slate, starting over without Jace, continuing in her happy and safe little life with her son.

She collected the coffee cups and dumped them into the sink, the rest of the pot following soon after. She was too wired to drink any more caffeine. She drew her hand over the spot on the table where she had just lay, Jace's whispering voice still echoing around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the brown parcel paper wrapped package sitting on the couch. Without any recollection of moving, she had the canvases unwrapped and in her hands. They truly were excellent quality. The shop attendant where Jace had gone knew what she was doing. There were six canvases of differing sizes and five sets of paint, true to Jace's word.

Everything was top of the line.

Clary's hand brushed over the supplies with longing. Jace was right. When she had stopped painting, she had felt an ache that had never truly disappeared. Part of her had disappeared. It would be easy to pick up where she left off, though after that encounter with Jace, she was almost angry enough to destroy the gifts.

The artist in her couldn't do that though. These were raw vessels that could be shaped and formed and turned into something beautiful. No matter how angry she was at Jace, she couldn't disrespect the art like that.

She wondered if she still had it in her to create beauty. She had sold all of her paintings over the last seven years, taking whatever she could get for them as a way to pay for a life for her son and herself, and then she hadn't touched a paint brush. She had sketched, yes, but there was a vast difference between the two.

She would certainly have time over the next two weeks to paint. Perhaps she could do something good enough to make up for missing work. She would have to try. She would paint the six canvases and try to sell them. She still had the contact information for the buyer that had purchased her work before. He'd bought the most serious paintings that she had done before she had gotten pregnant, including _Brooklyn by the Water at Night, _which was perhaps her most accomplished piece.

She thought hard, trying to come up with his name. It started with an "M" and it wasn't a common name. She combed through her memories. _Magnus. That's it._ _Magnus Bane._

He owned several clubs and bars all over the city and used her artwork as themes. He hadn't just bought the art, he'd purchased the rights to the art so that he could reproduce it at his will. At the beginning, Clary had been wary of the idea of her art not being her own anymore, but the sum of money he promised her for the copyrights to the six pieces he bought changed her mind when she realized what she was faced with.

He had raved about her style and how it was so closely suited to what he wanted to create in his establishments. He'd opened a bar based on _Brooklyn by the Water at Night_; he turned it into a mural and designed the entire atmosphere of the bar around it. He would probably be the easiest and quickest sell.

Magnus had made it clear that he wanted more of her work, if she were to find herself in a position to sell again. At the time, she had politely declined, having just given birth to a little boy six weeks earlier, though she promised that she would contact him if she ever painted again. Magnus had called her twice after that, enquiring as to whether or not she had new work for him. She hadn't heard from him in over three years though.

Clary started to reason with herself. If he wasn't interested, she would take that as a sign. If she couldn't create something beautiful enough, if he was unwilling to buy her work, then she wouldn't touch the paints again.

Until that moment, however, she was going to try her hardest.

She went into her bedroom and pulled out her sketchpad and pencils and sat down to think of ideas.

…

…

…

**Well ladies and gentlemen, we're getting close to the end of the story. Jace and Clary haven't quite reached the end of the line yet, but they're getting close. **

**What do you think so far? **

**Will Clary sell her artwork?**

**Will Clary and Jace actually end up together?**

**Who knows? **

**I do. **

**You'll just have to keep reading! *wink wink, nudge nudge* **

**In the next chapter, you'll learn more about Clary's artwork and you'll see some interactions with B-characters. **

**Until then, leave me a review and let me know how you're enjoying the story so far! **


	25. Chapter 25

Six hours later, Clary was still staring at the sketchpad, completely uninspired and unable to produce anything worthwhile. A pile of crumpled papers sat in the corner; a handful of them had made it over the lip of the trashcan, but most of them had bounced out or off of the sides or ricocheted off of the walls. In all that Jace had done for her, he hadn't taught her how to shoot a basketball.

Now he never would. Despite what Jace earnestly believed, Clary knew, deep down she _knew,_ that they were finished. Jace's stubborn streak reached long and far; he hated to lose and didn't like being told what to do, but his inability to accept that they weren't compatible was no reason to continue living in a lie.

Clary sketched a few lines on the paper, wrinkled her nose, and ripped it out. She tossed it towards the wastebasket, groaning as it fell a few feet short. She let her head fall forward to the table, cradled by her arms, and she let out a shuddering sigh. She tried to hold back tears. She wouldn't cry.

Her mind kept going back to what Jace had said before he left. _"I bring you out of that tower you've trapped yourself in… You're lonely and sheltered without me."_ Part of her wondered if he was right. Did she lock herself away?

She couldn't afford to take risks on frivolous things like boys. She had a _son._ She had a child that depended on her to be steady and strong and present. As much as she loved both of them, she couldn't let him take a backseat to Jace. He was only six years old; Matthew couldn't take care of himself and he couldn't be left alone. Living in a rundown and impoverished area for the last six and a half years had shown her what happened when parents, especially mothers, checked out of their children's lives.

It never ended well. Teens were hooked on drugs and alcohol, trapped in never-ending cycles of violence against others and against themselves. They were incapable of love. They could only hate. She couldn't and wouldn't let her son, her Matthew, who was so full of light and happiness and wonder, end up like that.

Maybe eventually she would find love again and get married, have another child with a man who had a steady nine-to-five job. She would still waitress, maybe paint on the weekends, and they would take turns cooking dinner while Matthew, now a teenager, played with his baby brother or sister and went to college.

She tried to ignore the little niggle of doubt that played in her stomach. She told herself that _that_ is what she wanted, that perfect, idyllic, American dream with a yet unknown man, not the unpredictable, all-consuming, neverending love she felt for Jace and was trying to convince herself she no longer felt. It was painful. She didn't want to give him up. In an ideal world, this wouldn't be her choice. She wanted him. Even now, when she had reconciled herself to spending the rest of her life never seeing Jace again, her entire being ached for him. She wanted him to come hold her, she wanted him to come touch her hair, stroke her face, take her to bed and wrap his strong arms around her and pull her tight against his chest. To whisper that he loved her.

That was what hurt the most – Jace didn't love her. He wanted her, yes, but there was no love. He fought hard because he was stubborn and wanted to be right. She made him feel safe, so he stayed by her side. Time would fly though, and he would soon forget her. Like a child whose toy was taken from him, he would cry and pout for a few moments, but would quickly move on. She anticipated a few calls, a few gifts, a drunken visit perhaps, but these would soon fade.

Soon enough, Jace would find someone else. Someone better suited for him would come along and Jace would follow her through life. He would treat her like a princess, and she would deserve it. She would fall in love with him – she would practically have no choice in the matter, Jace was a romantic, and he treated his women with respect and generosity – and they would get married and have beautiful children who would be successful and loving and perfect.

Clary's heart broke all over again. It was only when she felt the warmth on her hand that she realized tears had fallen. Little spatters dotted the smudged paper as she cried. They came faster and faster, rolling in big fat drops down her cheeks and splashing to the book in front of her. Her body shook and shivered as she sobbed, the pent up emotion of the breakup and stress of the day whipping her into a frenzy.

"Stop," she whispered to herself. "Stop now. Stop crying. Don't cry. You're better than this. You're stronger than this." A few more wracking sobs. "Breathe, Fray." She tried, failed. "In through your nose, out through your mouth." She repeated this again and again, urging herself to calm down and breathe. She brought herself back.

She let her fingers pick up the pencil again. She felt herself move unconsciously, shading and lining and filling in the blank, tear-stained paper. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked down and saw a rough sketch of a lined face, expressive eyes, a scar above the eye and on the collarbone. Jace haunted her very being. He was behind her eyes and burned into her mind, an imprint on her heart.

Clary knew that packing up and moving on from this relationship would be far harder than she ever imagined. She knew that it would destroy her, but she knew it needed to be done.

She tore the sheet of paper from the book and crumpled it, tossing it mechanically towards the wastebasket in the corner.

…

…

…

The next three days passed the same way. Clary woke up, got Matthew ready, and took him to school. She came up, opened the sketchbook, and stared at it all day before going back to pick Matthew up, bringing him home for dinner, putting him to bed and then going to sleep herself. She was no better than a robot, going through the motions for the sake of the show.

Memories of Jace plagued her, and even though it hurt to recall them, she knew that those very memories would provide the best inspiration. In her mind, she conjured the image of them at the party, dancing bodies pulsating with energy and life and passion. She sat at the table and drew and drew and drew. Hours passed as she frantically sketched and erased. Shaded and reshaped. It took two more days of this process, this editing and rebuilding of the image in her mind before she was happy with the basic framework. It was two more days of simple dinners of chicken nuggets and grilled cheese sandwiches for Matthew and countless cups of coffee for her. It was two days of questions like, "Mommy, why won't you play with me?" and "Mommy, why won't you stop drawing?" and patient answers like, "Mommy is trying something new," and "Mommy will play with you when she's done with this; it's very important," before she was happy with the piece.

On Friday, she dropped Matthew off at school and made arrangements for him to spend the night at a friend's house. She remembered how, when she was younger and dreamed of going to art school, she would sometimes spend twenty-three or twenty-four hours at a time on a single canvas. She prayed that she would be able to recall some of her talent; these canvases were expensive – far, far out of her budget. If she ruined these, she would never be able to buy more, and she would run out of money before being able to go back to waitressing. Everything depended on this.

She rummaged through her closet, knowing that there was an easel tucked away in its deepest corners. Once it was in her hands, she stepped back and sat back on her bed. She looked at the tool with nostalgia, memories of happily painting with her mother flooding over her. With a sad smile, she stood and moved toward the living room.

After dressing in raggedy clothes, she spread newspapers across the floor of the apartment and set up the easel in the middle. She meticulously mixed the paints, taking a deep breath before timidly dipping the brush into the mix, raising her arm, and dragging the bristles across the canvas in the first tentative stroke. She took in a sharp breath, startled when she saw the mark on the page. Startled at how good it felt. Startled at how she never wanted to stop.

She smiled and kept painting.

…

…

…

"Pick up the phone, Clary. Pick up the phone. You can do this, but first you need to pick up the phone." Clary stood next to the table that her completed canvas was lying on. It was bright and dark at the same time; colors contrasted and melted together in one medium. Next to the painting lay her phone, and next to her phone lay a piece of paper with seven digits scrawled on it, old and yellowed from six years of sitting in a box. With shaking fingers, she reached for the phone, picked it up, and dialed. She took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

It rang. Six times it rang, and with each tone, part of Clary's nerve died. Finally it picked up, and a vaguely familiar voice answered.

"Hello?" It was a man's voice, quiet and unassuming, not like the club owner's voice that Clary remembered. She didn't say anything, prompting the man to speak again, albeit more annoyed this time.

"Um, hi," She started. "I'm trying to reach Magnus Bane?" Her voice was timid and she ended the sentence with a question.

"He's in the next room. Who's calling?" Clary felt relief flood through her. The first half of the battle was won; Magnus Bane still existed, and he was in the next room.

"Clary Fray. I'm an artist." Her cheeks flamed as she described herself, hoping that she didn't sound presumptuous.

"Are you kidding me?" The man sounded angry now. "I can't escape from you, can I? What the hell do you want with Magnus? First my brother, then my-" he cut himself off. "You know what, nevermind." There was a muffled noise, as if he had put the phone's receiver against his shirt.

Clary knew why the voice was familiar – it was Alec. Alec was with Magnus. She thought back the night that she had run away from Jace's apartment and remembered why the Asian man that had followed Alec looked so familiar. He had bought _Brooklyn by the Water at Night._ He was the club owner.

Clary sat down, overwhelmed and confused and irritated. She waited, praying that Alec would hand the phone off, crossing her fingers and whispering, "Please, please, please."

The noise on the other end of the lessened, and a few moments later, a smooth voice floated through the phone. "The awesome and all-powerful Magnus Bane speaking, how may I assist my peasantry today?"

Clary was stunned into silence. She bit her bottom lip at the strange greeting, unsure of how to answer.

"Speak, speak quickly, or I hang up. My time is too precious for this."

That sparked Clary into finding her voice. "Mr. Bane, this is Clary Fray calling." She paused for him to acknowledge her, but no such affirmation came. "I," She started in, stuttering a little bit as she internally cursed herself for this stupid idea. "I'm an artist that you bought a painting from a few years ago-"

"Brooklyn by the Water at Night. I recall." He interrupted her, but said nothing else.

"Right," she pressed forward, screwing up her face and covering her eyes with her hands. "Well, I just recently started painting again, and you said to let you know if I was ever in a position to sell my artwork again." She paused again, hoping for him to say something. He didn't. "So this is me, letting you know." She finished awkwardly, wishing she could throw herself into some water in Brooklyn at night.

"Interesting." Was all he said. For a few seconds, there was silence. "I based an entire club's ambience and atmosphere on that painting. A very successful club, I might add. Buying the rights to it was one of the best decisions I've ever made. I suppose I owe both of us the opportunity to do that again."

Clary let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Thank you," she replied, voice still a little shaky.

"Describe it to me," Magnus replied.

"What?"

"Describe what the painting looks like."

"Well, I have three ready to go right now. I have some other ideas though."

"So, describe."

Clary paused, unsure of how to proceed. She cleared her throat, trying to buy some time to figure out how she wanted to explain her piece. She could practically hear Magnus tapping his feet on the other side of the phone.

"Well, the first piece is very cool, but still warm. It's got a lot of silver and red and blue tones to it. It's not a still life; it's an abstract. It's very nightlife-y." She paused awkwardly once again, feeling as though she were failing. Her pitch needed to be better. She took a deep breath and sent a quick prayer for the right words. "This is the kind of art that you would expect to see on a wall in a club with flashing strobe lights and hypnotic music. It looks kind of like sound waves, almost, or drops of paint rippling in the water. People would dance, but not like at a typical club. This isn't a bumping and grinding kind of feeling, this is a dancing to let out emotion and passion and stress from the week. This is a kind of release, like taking six shots in row and then kissing a complete stranger. This is," she trailed off, "Freedom." She finished.

"Fascinating. Put it aside for me," Magnus commanded. "What's next?"

"The second one is a still life. It's kind of trippy." She bit her lip and looked at the piece, feeling the explanation come to her quickly. "Imagine you're dizzy; you've been spinning for what seems like hours and you're coming back into yourself. As you orient yourself, your head feels kind of cloudy and even though you can still distinguish everything from everything else in the room, it seems off. Twisted and out of proportion. That's what this painting is. It's a dizzy-looking room in a decrepit old house, the kind of house that an old horror film would take place in, with serial killers or monsters lurking around every corner."

"Hmm." Magnus hummed. "It sounds interesting, but I don't know if it would make a good ambience piece. Put it aside and I'll consider it when I see you." Magnus let out a sigh as if he had collapsed onto a couch and asked her to describe the final piece.

"This is," Clary said hesitantly, "a boy." It was, in truth, Jace. As hard as she had tried to remove him from her art, she couldn't. He leaked into her mind in everything she did. Finally, she had just given in and painted the images that she had conjured.

It was his body, his face, although his features had been distorted and clouded. It was dream-like; he was reaching out for the woman in the image. She stood with her back to him, looking towards the ground with her arms wrapped around herself. She wore a long, flowing dress, the dark blue contrasted with her auburn hair. The man was shirtless, his muscled arms extended to the point of pain, his body was bent and stretched as he grasped for the woman just beyond his reach. The couple bled into the background, not quite separate from their surroundings, as though nature itself was absorbing them.

"And a girl," she continued, explaining the yearning and pain and unrequited love that the portrait represented.

Magnus was silent for a few moments. Then, "When and where can you meet me?"

"Well," Clary replied slowly, "I'm going back to work in a few days, but until then, I'm available any time between nine and three."

"Ten-thiry tomorrow morning, sharp. Be at my apartment with any and all paintings that you might have ready by that time, including any sketches for upcoming pieces. I'm opening another club in a few months and I want the first pick of your artwork."

"I can do that," Clary answered, more than a little surprised at the suddenness of the meeting. "What's your address?"

Magnus rattled it off and Clary scurried to find a pen and paper to write it down. "I'll be there," she replied as Magnus hung up.

…

…

…

Clary looked up at the door to Magnus' apartment building. She had three completed paintings, each wrapped in a protective case, and three incomplete sketches to present to Magnus as proofs. She hoped and prayed that he would be willing to buy at least one of her paintings. Since she couldn't return to work for another week and bills were quickly approaching their due date, she desperately needed the money.

As she climbed the ornate steps, Clary ran through her mental list of reasons to be scared. _Her whole future rested on one man's opinion of her art. She couldn't afford to _not_ get this sale. She had a little boy who needed to eat for the next week. _

She stopped herself and took a deep breath before listing the reasons that she was sure she would get the sale. _Magnus was anxious to get her down here. Magnus had previously bought her art. She was a good painter. _

She raised her hand and rang the bell next to the tag that read "Magnus Bane, Prestigious Club Owner of Brooklyn."Her lips quirked at his sense of humor, and she was grateful for the momentary distraction from the butterflies in her stomach.

She heard the dull tone that signaled the intercom was turning on before a crackling voice burst through the speaker. "Enter," it intoned. She heard the click as the door unlocked and she reached out to twist the knob. She stepped through the threshold and looked around. The apartment appeared to be set up similarly to hers. An old house had been broken up into separate apartments by floors. The bottom floor, where she was standing in the foyer, was two apartments. She read the numbers on the doors – 432A and 432B. Magnus was 432F. She looked up the beautifully carved wooden stairs when she heard a door slam; a voice echoed down to her, bidding her to climb the four flights of steps and meet Magnus in the parlor of his apartment.

Clary shook her head at the man's eccentricity, but smiled and started the climb anyway.

Panting a little by the time she reached the top, she juggled her paintings for a moment so that she could pat at her hair and straighten her shirt, trying to make herself a little more presentable.

The door was hanging wide open and Clary took a tentative step forward, peering around the doorjamb while trying to remain unnoticed.

It didn't work.

"Are you going to go in, or just standing there spying?" Magnus' voice boomed from behind her. She jumped and sheepishly whirled around, blushing furiously. Magnus stood before her in an ornamental dressing robe, lavishly decorated with Japanese cherry blossoms in blues and pinks and reds. His arms were crossed over his chest and his left eyebrow was raised; he carried a rolled up newspaper in his hands and he was looking at her half-amusedly, half-annoyed.

"Uh," Clary cleared her throat and shifted the art in her arms again, subtly trying to draw his attention back to her art and away from her embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if I should go in or not."

"Clearly," Magnus quipped, "my door was open so I understand how you could assume that I didn't want visitors."

Clary was silent for a moment as she took in the sass of the man who stood before her. "Alrighty then," she murmured. "I'm Clary; I'm not sure if you remember me or not, but,"

"Of course I remember you. Your hair is a dead giveaway." Magnus pointed out, still standing in the same spot, giving her the same bored look.

"Right," Clary answered, narrowing her eyes, "Well, I have my art, in case you still want to look at it."

"Of course I do; that's the entire reason I invited you over." Magnus replied, giving her an incredulous look. "I'm incredibly interested in your art."

"Then why are copping such an attitude?" Clary asked crankily, knowing that she shouldn't allow him to irritate her, that she might be jeopardizing her prospects, but not caring. She'd had enough of being bullied and intimidated and belittled. Maybe Jace was right and she was in a tower, but she didn't need him to free her. She just needed a few seconds of insane bravery. Clary had never been a timid person before Matthew came along; all she had to do was remember that.

Magnus looked taken aback.

Despite every cell of her body screaming _no stop what are you doing don't do this you'll regret it you're so stupid this is going to turn him off why why why_, Clary continued, "If you want to look at my art, then look at my art, but don't give me all this sass and act like I'm the weird one when I call out the eccentric crap that you pull. I don't need that. If you're looking for someone to kowtow to your every whim and fantasy, then you've got the wrong girl. I'll sell my art to someone else." She stopped, breathing hard and flushed red after her outburst. She may have just ruined any chance she had of selling art, but she was, for once, proud of herself.

Magnus raised his hand and traced the outline of his chin with his index finger. He looked impressed. "You're fiery. Like your hair." He paused, thought for a moment. Then: "I like it." He cocked his head to the side and studied her. "No one talks to me like that. Most clients handle me with kid gloves, afraid that they'll offend me and I'll take my business elsewhere. But," he continued after a moment, "Not you. You're honest and passionate. You won't let me get away with shit."

Clary stared back at him, confused with the turn of events. Magnus grandly swept one arm towards the open door, motioning for her to enter. "I think that we will have a very long and lucrative relationship, Miss Fray."

Clary gazed back at him for a moment; he was waiting for her to make the first move. She shuffled the canvases in her hands again, spun on her heel, and strode into the apartment. Magnus smiled and followed, closing the door behind them.

…

…

…

Clary stood impatiently in the living room. This apartment was like a penthouse – it took up the whole fourth floor. Magnus had been silently staring at the three completed pieces that she presented to him for the last forty-five minutes. He was in a trance-like state, not noticing anything she did. She already made three laps around the apartment, explored the various rooms (there were eight, which blew her mind – eight rooms in one apartment!), helped herself to a healthy dose of vodka and cranberry juice from the drink cart, and finally made her way back to where he was standing.

Her stomach growled. She looked at her watch. She tapped her foot. She made another lap around the apartment.

Circling back to Magnus, she noticed that he was gone. Looking around, she saw him standing next to the formal dining table in the next room, rooting through a bag.

"What are you looking for?" She asked as she approached.

"How much do you want for them?" He replied.

"What?"

He looked up, arching his eyebrow. "Your paintings. How much?" He asked again, slowly, as though speaking to a child. "I want the abstract and the spinning room for clubs I'm going to open on the West Coast, and the man and woman will make a good backdrop for an addition to the club in Tribeca. So how much?"

Clary considered for a moment, not know what to say. "How much are you offering?" She asked hesitantly.

"Don't play this game with me." Magnus retorted, "I'm getting a headache and I just want a straight figure."

Clary tried to remember how much she sold _Brooklyn by the Water at Night_ for, but couldn't recall. She was floundering.

"I want all three, so just give me one block price." Magnus suddenly looked up at her. "Actually, just sell me the rights to the artwork. I don't want anyone else using these. I have a very specific image in my mind, and no one else is allowed to infringe on that."

"And how much do you think that's worth," Clary asked shrewdly, trying to gauge his reaction. Truthfully, she would settle for a few hundred, but she wanted whatever she could get.

Magnus tilted his head back and forth, considering. "Well, exclusivity is a big deal." He cast a sharp glance at Clary, "And I would want _entirely_ exclusive rights. No reproductions, no other sales, nothing. Your name is on it, but I own everything about these paintings."

Clary nodded and agreed. She had no use for them after the sale, so long as she received her money and could still say that she was the artist in case other clients wanted to see samples of her work.

"I'm going to say," Magnus drummed his fingers against his lips, deliberating for a few moments, "Six thousand." Clary's jaw dropped and she hastened to close it before Magnus picked up on her naiveté. "For each," he added.

Clary's eyes bugged out and she froze. Eighteen thousand dollars was more money than she had ever seen at one time in her life, and now he was offering her that sum as though it were pocket change.

Magnus noticed her hesitance and mistook it for reluctance. "Well, wait. Seven thousand for each."

Clary snapped out of her daze and answered quickly. "Deal."

Magnus grinned. "I'm going to call my lawyer right now. He can be here in an hour with the paperwork. Make yourself comfortable," he waved towards the couches in the other room, "I'm going to go get dressed." He turned and glided out, then called back over his shoulder, "I'll call my banker too and get him to cut a check. What bank do you use? He can probably just funnel the money directly to your account and not deal with all this nasty paper check business."

Clary answered him before she collapsed on the black leather couch; her eyes were wide and her breathing was rapid and uneven as she tried to process what just happened. She just made twenty-one thousand dollars. She could pay her rent for the next two years, fill her freezer and refrigerator for once, instead of scrimping by with just the basics. She could start a college fund for Mattie. She could buy more canvases and paints and maybe _actually make a living_.

Clary wasn't sure how much time had passed since she started hyperventilating, but suddenly, Magnus was in front of her, fully clothed, and peering down at her curiously. "What's wrong with you? You look like a dying fish."

"I feel kind of like a dying fish," She wheezed, trying to get a handle on herself so she didn't embarrass herself further.

"Why?" Magnus asked, looking at her as though she actually were a dying fish, flopping around on his expensive, imported carpet.

"That's a lot of money." She answered honestly.

"You think twenty-one thousand is a lot of money?" He asked disbelievingly.

"You don't?" She replied, looking up at him in shock. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for a long time. Clary stared back at him, not knowing what to do or say in the moment, almost hypnotized by the green in his irises.

Then, Magnus' eyes lit up and a devious smile cracked on his face. He looked, Clary thought, like he was the villain of a Disney movie about to unleash his evil plan on the innocent young princess. A thin bead of sweat broke on her forehead as she waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Clary, sweetheart," Magnus said as he sat down opposite her. "I run a chain of incredibly successful clubs. I come from old European money. I'm a millionaire. If I had any concept of money management, I would probably be a billionaire. Twenty-one thousand is a pittance to me, compared to what I will make off of your art."

"Well, that's pretty awesome for you, but why are you telling me this?" Clary asked, scrunching her eyebrows together in confusion.

"Because I'm about to make you a very wealthy woman," he answered with a smug grin.

"I have twenty-one thousand dollars," Clary stated with a blank expression, "I am a wealthy woman."

Magnus' bellowing laugh echoed across the room, sending the cat curled up by his feet running into the bedroom for cover. "My dear girl, that is _not_ wealth." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together under his chin. "I'm going to introduce you to my art dealer." His voice was excited, pitching with emotion. "She will keep you on a retainer agreement. Any time you paint something of worth, give it to her and she can sell it for you. She charges a fee of course, but it comes from the commission on the art and I can all but guarantee that every single one of your pieces will be sold." Magnus leaned back and stretched his long arms out on the back of the couch. "And she will sell them at quite the premium. Then, Clary, will you understand what wealth is."

Clary looked at him dumbly. "What do you get out of this?" She asked suspiciously.

Magnus smiled at her like a cat that just killed a bird. "This simply assures that I not only get the first pick of your art, but it also means that I can prevent my competitors from getting wind of you and taking advantage of your somewhat immense talent." He leaned forward again, "This will be profitable for both of us."

Clary's hackles raised. "Why does this seem too good to be true?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Because for someone like you, it probably is." Magnus answered honestly before leaning back and examining his perfectly manicured nails. He glanced up and took her in, with her crossed arms and suspicious glare. "You're asking yourself why this is happening, because surely, this can't be that easy, right?"

Clary nodded once, still keeping an eye on him.

"I promise you, Clary, that I am not trying to cheat you. I don't cheat people that work for me. I treat them fairly, as long as they are loyal to me. I like your art and I want to continue working with you. I want to help you get the fame you deserve, but I'm not going to do it for free." He gave her a onceover. "I don't give out charity. You will work for what you earn, but I will make sure that you earn it. Keeping you on a retainer with my art dealer guarantees that I will get what I'm paying for, and it will make sure that other people _don't_ get what I'm paying for. That's all there is to it. _Capisce_?"

Clary looked to the ground and thought long and hard about the arrangement. She ran through outcome after outcome, but in truth, she couldn't see a downside to this arrangement. She would get paid to paint, and that was all she had ever wanted to do with her life.

"This kind of sounds like I would only get paid for the paintings that you like." Clary slowly pointed out.

"No, I would pay for any paintings that I like, and the ones that I don't would get shown in her gallery." He answered coolly.

"I'll agree," Magnus' face lit up with her concession, but Clary continued, "But I want a lawyer to look at the agreement first," she finished proudly, knowing that she could afford a lawyer now, and that it was in her best interest to have someone looking out for her. It wasn't that she didn't trust Magnus – he had treated her more than fairly – but she wanted her bases covered.

"Fair enough," Magnus acknowledged. "I'll call Rebekah and have her bring over the agreement. She'll be by shortly. That will give us time to finish the transfer of rights for these three. Ernie can stay and look over the retainer agreement for you too." Magnus extended his right hand to her with an arched brow.

Clary nodded and clasped her hand in his. They shook once, twice, three times before Magnus smiled his cat's grin again.

"It will be a pleasure doing business with you, Clarissa Fray. A pleasure indeed."

…

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…

**Snow Day means another chapter! **

**No Clace interaction, but the next few chapters will have some. **

**I know it took forever, but I hope it was worth it. Once again, I would like to affirm that I won't give up on this story, but I will NOT have regular updates. **

**Please leave your thoughts, predictions, and reactions in the reviews! I love to read them and respond!**


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